


Rule Number Eight

by yanagi



Series: Tony!SEAL verse [26]
Category: NCIS
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-02
Updated: 2017-07-02
Packaged: 2018-12-14 05:19:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11776314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yanagi/pseuds/yanagi
Summary: When Ducky is attacked at a crime scene, no one's happy. In fact, they're down right hacked.





	Rule Number Eight

Rule Number Eight.

 

Gibbs’ rules: Rule #8: Never take anything for granted.

.

Beta by Jake and Jordre  
.

 

Gibbs glanced around the crime scene, getting nods from the men he looked at. He keyed his mic and said, “All clear. Send Ducky in.”

Jimmy replied, “Affirmative. On our way.”

Gibbs looked around again. He wasn’t a happy Team Lead right now. The SEALs were on a classified mission and would be gone for at least ten days. He was already missing them, and it was only day two. It didn’t help that they were under radio silence, no contact. He sighed, rubbed his stomach, and went back to work.

Ned Dorneget looked down. He’d been set to Bag ‘n’ Tag ―the caps were his― and was taking it very seriously. This was one of the biggest cases he’d been allowed to work, and he wanted to make a good impression. Vance had instituted a new program of TDA’s, Temporary Duty Agents, who could be borrowed by any team that was short for whatever reason. He decided that he’d like to stay on this assignment for a while; it was very educational. He dragged his attention back to his duty and continued to look for anything that looked like evidence.

Tim McGee glowered at the local. “Look. I’m not trying to tell you how to do your job, I’m just checking off the list ... so, you checked the whole house and all the outbuildings, right?”

The local LEO was obviously resentful; he knew that any crime involving Navy or Marines went to NCIS, but this was a big drug bust, and they were losing it to Feds. So he wasn’t as accommodating as he could be. “Yeah ... we checked everywhere before we even called you in. That jerk in a uniform got himself killed over one of the biggest bales of cocaine I’ve ever seen. And that’s all I know. You guys rode in on your ... came and took over ... put us on the sidelines right away. You got what I got. Now. I’m on crowd control until further notice, so I’m gonna go do my thing before the Chief comes and busts my ass.” He strode off, back stiff.

Tim watched him for a moment, then grumbled, “Damnit, Gibbs, just a little ... just once. All those ruffled feathers.” He checked his phone, checked another task off, and went to wait for Ducky and Jimmy. He knew that the locals were so outraged that they wouldn’t show them where the body was; they’d just point and sulk. 

.

Ducky eyed the GPS, then asked, “Are you sure, Jimmy? I believe we should have turned at that last fork.”

“Yeah ... let me think ... um ... no. If we’d turned there, we’d be in the river now. You look at that GPS and seem to turn it over. North is always up, no matter what direction we’re going. The arrow is us.”

Ducky, who’d heard this explanation a dozen times before, demanded, “Then why is my bump of direction telling me we’re going the wrong way?”

Jimmy, who’d had this argument with Ducky clear back in the days of paper maps, just sighed. He wasn’t going to get into an argument with Ducky over this; it just led to hurt feelings and sulking. Only he’d deny he sulked with his last breath. “No idea, Ducky. Maybe it’s still on Scottish time or something.”

Ducky snorted at that, then pointed, “There’s Tim.”

Jimmy saw Tim and pulled in. “Hey.”

“Hurry up. The locals are all flamin’ pissed. Gibbs.”

Jimmy grimaced. “Damn.”

Ducky just shook his head. “I swear. You’d think he’d learn by now. But ... Let’s get this over with.” He hopped out of the truck and went to crouch over the body.

Jimmy started unloading the gurney, but something made him look up, just in time to see someone bolt out of a boat shed at the back of the property and head for a car parked on a dirt track at the side of the lot. Unfortunately, Ducky was between him and his target. The man took a wild swing, catching Ducky on the shoulder.

Ducky cried out in surprise and fell, hitting his head on something. 

Jimmy swore, pulled his sidearm and took a couple of shots, which caused the perp to abandon his target vehicle and swerve into the woods instead.

The Sheriff yelled, “Cease fire! What the hell is going on?”

Jimmy eyed him for a moment then snarled, “Perp was in the damn boathouse. Took a fuckin’ run for it and knocked Ducky down. Excuse me for gettin’ pissed.”

Jimmy hurried to Ducky, yelling for Gibbs at the same time.

He needn’t have bothered, as the gunfire had Gibbs, Ned, and Tim arriving at a dead run. “What the fuckin’ hell?” He got a good look at Ducky, who was lying on the ground, dazed. “Duck?”

Jimmy was too busy doing an assessment to answer.

Ducky groaned and tried to touch his head. Since he had a gash on the side of his head, this wasn’t such a good idea. Jimmy blocked his hand gently. “No, don’t touch. Your hands are dirty.”

“Oh. Thank you, dear boy. What the devil was that all about?”

Gibbs snarled, “Evidently some fuck-wad didn’t clear a boat storage shed. Our perp was hiding in there, probably under the damn boat. Decided to make a break for it and you got in his way.”

A Highway Patrol Officer came over to Ducky at a dead run. “I got this. I’m EMT trained.”

Jimmy nodded kindly. “And I’m a physician. You can get my kit from the bus, if you would.”

“I got mine right here.” The officer dropped his mini-kit on the ground. “Name’s Frank Johnson.”

Jimmy eyed the kit then smiled as Tim dropped his kit beside the other one. 

“Here. You’ll want this. I’m gonna go and rip some hick a new asshole.” 

The medic-trained Patrol Officer leaned in to watch Jimmy work.

The first thing he had to do was get Ducky to cooperate. He did that by simply saying, “Damnit, Ducky, a physician who treats himself has a fool for a patient. You said so yourself. Now hold still.”

Ducky grumbled a bit, but submitted to the examination. He did swear at the penlight. Jimmy snorted. “I know, I know. But you are concussed. Mild, but still.” 

After that, Jimmy cleaned the shallow gash to get a good look. “Not deep. I’ll just butterfly it for now, clean dressing. You know the drill.”

Ducky submitted with ill grace, but endured the treatment.

.

Meanwhile Gibbs was giving the sheriff and the Highway Patrol lead officer all kinds of hell, with Tim standing behind him with a nasty look on his face.

“I don’t know what kind of fucked-up, jack-wad, half-assed training you idiots received, but it’s unacceptable. Ducky is old, and that dick could have fuckin’ killed him. As it is he’s got a damn concussion. I’ve never seen such a fuckin’ useless bunch of ASVAB-waiver recipients in my whole damn life. The whole bunch of ya need a Number Ten attitude adjustment. You’re also so damn dumb, if you fell in a barrel of tits, you’d come out suckin’ your damn thumbs.” He was really on a roll, sounding more like his SDI persona than an NCIS Senior Team Lead.

Tim walked closer and announced, “Save your breath to cool your fuckin’ soup. We’ve got better things to do than yell at them. If they haven’t got sense enough to actually fuckin’ search the whole damn building, including under the fuckin’ boat ... well, let it go. Come on. We need to get Ducky back to NCIS— and the body, too.”

The two LEO’s were looking both pissed and dismayed; pissed because both Gibbs and Tim were ripping a strip off both of them, and pissed and dismayed because they knew that someone had fucked up royally. They both vowed to find out who and have a few things to say themselves.

Jimmy helped Ducky up. “Come on. We’ll get back to the Yard and you can sit at your desk ... unless you’d rather go home.”

“I’ll go back to the Yard and sit a bit. I’ll decide in about an hour.” Ducky had to admit that he was feeling very shaky, but he didn’t want to go home and be alone.

Tim offered, “You could go lay down on Abby’s futon. It’s really comfortable, and she’ll be happy to help you up if you can’t manage on your own.” Ducky gave him an indignant look. “Last time I got concussed, she had to help me,” Tim said. “Seriously. It’s really low.”

Ducky shrugged, unusual for him, “Very well. Let’s ... as you boys put it ... put wheels under this bitch.” Everyone blinked, it was always a bit startling when Ducky used profanity.

Jimmy got their body loaded into the truck with Gibbs’ help. Ducky got into the passenger seat with Tim’s, and they headed back to the Yard. Ned Dorneget and Gibbs drove back in the “company” SUV. They left Tim there to oversee processing the scene.

While Gibbs drove, Ned worked on his tablet. “I think I’ve got a line on PO Reynolds. He and our vic are cousins. PO Jackson owns ... or owned ... the crime scene, and Reynolds lived with him. No unusual financial transactions in either account ... might want to look for a stash of cash and ... arms. What with that brick of coke. I’m gonna have the CSI’s check while they process the scene. Okay?”

Gibbs nodded. “Good. Call Tim.”

“On it, Boss.”

Tim answered on the first ring. “Yeah. What?” He listened while Ned explained what was wanted. “Okay. I’ll see to it myself. Our CSI’s are all busy collecting ... garbage, basically. The whole house is a fuckin’ pigsty. The locals are so pissed that they’re basically useless. I really, really wish Jet would ... learn some basic public relations ... or just keep his damn mouth shut and let one of us handle relations. Seriously.” Tim hung up and went to speak with the head of the CSI Team.

The CSI lead was sympathetic but frankly stated that they would be processing for the next several hours; exactly what he said was, “This garbage dump is going to take for fuckin’ ever, don’t expect results in less than 48 hours ... more like 72. And that’s with all three labs working full time. An’ that’s not gonna happen.”

Tim just snarled, “Damnit, how hard is it to look for guns and drugs while you pick up shit? The one bundle we found is at least 2K. I’ll do a strict search myself.”

Mac just shrugged. “You know how it is. Or maybe you don’t. We get to concentrating on collection and inventory and don’t see the obvious because we’re looking for ... well, we don’t miss evidence that’s hidden but need to be hit in the face with the obvious. That’s why we do a secondary search. If you want to do a strict search ... I’d appreciate it.” and with that he walked off to oversee his team.

Tim just rubbed his face and sighed, “Getting as bad as Jet.” He then started his search.

It didn’t take him long to find his objective, drugs or guns; in this case, both. He opened a closet door and, instead of glancing around at the nearly empty space, he stepped in and looked carefully at everything in it. He took another step into the narrow, deep walk-in and heard a creak. He stepped back and then forward again. “What?” Tim knelt and felt the floor, glad that Gibbs had given him a lesson in flooring. It didn’t take him long to find the loose floorboard and lift it. He pointed the beam of his flashlight into the cavity and saw three wrapped bundles. The shape was wrong for drugs, but right for handguns. He pulled the bundles out and called for evidence bags. 

A CSI just shoved some at him, grumbling, “Prepared? Not so much.”

Tim just snarled wordlessly and bagged the guns. He turned to continue his search. After looking at and feeling the top shelves he looked up. “Oh, yeah.” The small square of an attic access was partially hidden by a removable shelf.

Tim looked around for a ladder or some other way to climb to the hatch. He didn’t see anything for a moment then realized that all the shelves above the bottom-most one came out. He pulled them out of their slots and stacked them against the wall to the side, noticing the scuff marks there. This revealed toeholds made of two-by stock nailed to the back wall. They looked like braces for the middle of the shelves, but they could also be used to climb to the hatch. So he climbed.

It wasn’t hard to push the hatch up into the attic. Tim eased his head into the space and yelped. “Holy shit! Oh my fucking God.” This brought a CSI at a run.

“What? A ‘coon?”

Tim yelled back. “No, a fuckin’ stash. Huge. There’s enough shit here to keep DC stoned for a month. Get some help, I’ll start handing it down.”

Dave, the CSI Team Lead, called, “Be there in a sec. You gloved?”

“Of course. But ... maybe I should double-glove?”

“Okay. I’ll get some blue gloves, they’re stick-proof. Don’t start handing down until I get them.” Dave hurried to get the gloves.

When Dave handed Tim the second pair of gloves, he put them on right over the first pair, then started carefully moving the bricks of drugs from their hiding place in the attic and handing them off to one man, who then handed them on to another CST, who put them in a bin.

It didn’t take them long to recover ten bricks from the attic, three hand guns from under the floorboard, and an assortment of pills from the bathroom.

Tim nodded. “Well, that’s that. And now we know why they were so determined to protect the site and why they were killing each other off. Jerks. Like there isn’t enough to go around. Greedy assholes.” Tim would never understand why they did what they did; as if drugs and guns weren’t bad enough, they had to kill each other over them. “That still doesn’t excuse hurting Ducky.” Tim checked that everything was inventoried, then offered to drive the first truck of evidence back to the Yard, explaining, “I know you’re not all done here, but I’d really like to get the drugs locked up ASAP and get the guns into Abby’s hands. Who knows what other crimes those jackholes committed.”

Dave just said, “Okay. Good idea, but send someone back with another truck, okay? We’ll need it to get everyone and all that shit back.”

“Okay. Why don’t you call dispatch and have them do that? That way you’ll get the right trucks an’ shit.” Tim eyed his phone and wondered why no one had called him; Gibbs would usually have been blowing his phone up by now.

.

Gibbs’ group arrived at the Yard and began the tedious process of checking in. Since the last bomb threat, it was a real nuisance. The check-in crew realized that something was wrong, so they hurried as much as they could.

Ned, irritated at how long it was taking and pissed that he was irritated, decided to try to call Jimmy. “Gremlin? How’s Ducky?” He listened for a minute then said, “Good. How’s Abby?” He frowned at the reply, shut his phone and told Gibbs. “Abby’s pissed. I ... seriously, who knocks down Ducky?”

At that, the check-in crew all gathered around the team demanding to know what had actually happened. Gibbs was getting ready to have one of his legendary epic explosions but Ned cut him off by telling the crew what had happened, ending, “He’ll be okay. But we’re keeping a close eye on him for a bit.”

The sergeant in charge of the crew asked, “He’s going to be okay. Right?”

“He’ll be fine, Dr Palmer is with him. Can we go now?”

“Sure. Go catch that bitch.” The crewman raised the barrier and motioned them through.

It was a short drive to the parking garage and a quick trip up in the elevator. They didn’t go all the way to the squad room, just to Abby’s Lab. Ducky was supposed to be there, resting.

He was. Abby had pulled her futon out of storage and put it on the floor in her office. She’d also gotten out her pillows and blankets. Ducky was curled up on his side, head on a pillow, covered with a fleece blanket. 

Gibbs just nodded at Abby on his way through; she smiled, then went back to doing whatever it was she was doing. Jimmy was nearly tromping on Gibbs’ heels. While Ducky had gone directly to Abby, Jimmy had had to check in the body and fill out paperwork.

Gibbs knelt down and touched Ducky on the shoulder. “Duck?”

Ducky rolled over to look up at Gibbs. He smiled a bit as he said, “Ah, Jethro. I’m fine. Bit of a headache, a bit dizzy. Mild concussion. I’ll be right as rain in a trice.” 

Gibbs eyed Ducky for a moment then stood up, saying, “Doc Palmer will be the judge of that. And no arguments.”

Ducky made a face but agreed, “Very well, just to set your mind at ease. And get a mild analgesic.”

Jimmy settled crosslegged in front of Ducky and went through all the concussion checks. He stood up, telling Gibbs, “He’ll be fine in a couple of days. Mild concussion.”

Gibbs snarled, “So you’ve said ... several times. What does he need?”

“Rest. Which he’s getting. Not to be left alone, also getting. And ...” Suddenly Jimmy got a terrified look on his face. “Oh, shit! AJ! AJ’s gonna go mental. He’ll come back from wherever he is and ... wreak havoc. OH, my God.”

Gibbs actually turned pale. Tony loved Ducky like no one else on earth. When he found out, he was going to do something nasty to the stupid perp. “Christ on a mop stick.”

Ned, who had been hovering in the door, announced, “We have to find this guy and lock him up before the SEALs find out. They’ll ... we ...” Ned waved his hand, trying to express his fear. “I’m going up to ... do something.” He scurried out mumbling to himself.

Ducky just groaned and lay back down. “Not thinking about that. I’m going to rest now.” He covered his aching head with the blanket and curled up.

Abby had been watching all this with a scowl on her face. When Ducky had first shown up she’d freaked. When he’d requested her futon and quiet, she’d provided both, carefully putting out the bed and closing the office door. Now she just made fizzling noises, gestured for everyone to come into the lab and shut the door.

“Okay. What the actual fuck? Who ... who hurt my Duckman? Who do I get to make disappear? And I will. Seriously, what the hell?”

Gibbs grabbed Abby’s flailing hands and held them. “We’ll find that ... asswipe. You have a Foxtrot Tango of evidence to analyze, so get to it. I want to know everything about every bit of shit Tim’s bringing back. I’ll have Ned start on ... not sure what. Tim’ll know. And ... once we find them ... I’m personally gonna fuck ‘em all up.” He patted her hands then released them. “Evidence should be in the garage, first load, so get busy.” He headed for the door, rubbing his forehead and wishing for the rest of the Pod.

He led the way to the elevator but stopped suddenly. “Damnit. Autopsy. We need the autopsy ASAP.” He looked for Jimmy but he’d disappeared, headed for the Morgue and his solo autopsy. His report was done as he went, but it was detailed and as perfect as he could make it. It really wasn’t going to be much help; the PO had been shot point-blank with a small-caliber pistol, most likely a .38. The bullet had gone through his heart, then one lung, and lodged in a rib.

.

Gibbs gathered his troops at his desk; he’d discovered that Tony’s campfires actually worked. “Okay. What do we know?”

Ned sighed. “I went over their pay. Nothing. They’re both E-6, low man on the payroll. And their bank accounts jibe. But...” He turned to Tim.

“I checked ... other things. They both have numbered accounts ... elsewhere. And those show considerable activity. And by that, I mean 20k or more per transaction. It’s all disappearing ... somewhere. I’ve got Cyber Crime working on it. We’ll find out what and why. But they’re saying it’s all disappearing into Russia. So ... we’ll see.” He shrugged irritably then sat down.

Gibbs frowned. “Well ... it’s a start. What about tracing a vehicle or bus ticket?”

Ned picked up the clicker. “We were here ...” he zoomed in on the location of the house. “The nearest bus station is three hundred miles away. I think he’s stolen a vehicle locally, so we’ll have to wait until it’s reported ... which shouldn’t be long. If we’re very lucky, we’ll be able to track it via an onboard GPS. I left a message for the local LEO’s to let us know about any stolen vehicles.”

Tim gave Gibbs a dirty look, then said, “I doubt they’ll cooperate. They’re all too pissed. Jet ...” He grumbled, “Never mind.” and went back to his report. “So. Again ... If we’re lucky, Cyber will be able to access those accounts and either freeze them or empty them. I believe this is a connection to a drug cartel. New, Colombian, ruthless. When they find out about this mess ... well, I wouldn’t want to be anyone on this end of the pipeline.”

Gibbs grumbled, but agreed. “I think you’re right ... so, we wait until Cyber comes up with something.”

“Sorry, Boss, but yeah. Um ... we contacting Tony about this?”

“No. Radio silence. Wherever they are ... they’re out of contact until the mission is done. Then ... frankly, I’m worried. They’re all going to go apeshit.”

Ned looked blank. “And we’re not?”

Tim scowled, which sat oddly on his still-boyish features. “Yeah, we are. But we’re in a position to do something ... they’re not, which just makes it worse. I’m gonna call Abby and check on Ducky.” 

Everyone waited while Tim pinged Abby on their private chat connection. It only took a minute for Abby to answer.

“Hey, Tim. What can I do you for?”

“Abby. How’s Ducky? He doin’ okay?”

“He’s asleep. I was just about to wake him for a concussion check.” They could see Abby on Tim’s monitor, so everyone knew someone had come into the lab. “Oh ... never mind; Jimmy’s here. I’ll call you back in about five. Okay?”

“Fine.” Tim cut the connection from his end and started to type. “While Jimmy’s doing the check, I’m gonna email Belt. That way Tony won’t have a fit because no one tried to notify him. I know he won’t get it, but that’s not on my head. I tried.”

Gibbs smirked at Tim. “Now you’re gettin’ it.”

.

Abby turned from her monitor to greet Jimmy. “Hey! Come to check on Ducky?”

“I did. He needs a concussion check. He still laying down in your office?” Jimmy looked at the closed office door.

“Yeah. I closed the door and turned my music way down. That’s drivin’ me nuts, by the way.” Abby was well aware that her music wasn’t to everyone’s taste, but it was her lab. She tried to be considerate, since Gibbs had really chewed her out, and keep it down to what Tony called a dull roar. 

Jimmy nodded. “I’m sure he appreciates it.” He opened the sliding door by tapping the big button clearly labeled ‘Open’. “Ducky? You awake?”

Ducky rolled over. “I am, indeed. Come for my check?”

“Yeah. Can you sit up?” Jimmy reached for Ducky, who took his hand.

“Yes. But these old bones do need a bit of help. I think I’d like to sit in the chair.” Ducky accepted Jimmy’s help and got up to sit in Abby’s rolling chair. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Now ... pen light.” Jimmy flashed the light into Ducky’s eyes. Ducky flinched a bit as the light was a bit painful after the dimness of the office. “Sorry. Pupils are equal and reactive. You know the date?” Ducky snorted and told him. “I know. It’s really stupid. But ... I think you’re fine. What do you want to do?”

Ducky waggled his head, shook his shoulders then said, “I’d really like a nice cup of tea, some candy, and a good whack at that ... moron.”

Jimmy chuckled a bit then turned to the door. “I can manage the tea and candy; the whack? Not so much. Come on.”

Ducky followed Jimmy into the lab proper, to be greeted by an ecstatic Abby.

“Oh, man, Ducky. Do not scare me like that. Hug?” Abby opened her arms waiting for Ducky’s permission. She’s learned her lesson when she’d hurt Tony with an over-enthusiastic hug. She asked when anyone was hurt.

“Of course, my dear, exactly what I need.” Ducky accepted the careful hug with pleasure. “Nothing like a hug from a beautiful woman to cure what ails me.”

Abby pushed Ducky away to look at him. “Damn that ... that jerk-wad twatwaffle. I’ll ... I’ll mess him up. He’ll electronically disappear from the face of the earth.” She touched the bandage that covered the cut on Ducky’s temple. “Asshat.” She blinked then said, “Not you, Ducky. That ... creep that knocked you down. You’re way too nice to be an asshat. Not that you couldn’t be, if you needed but ...” she caught Jimmy and Ducky’s amused expressions. “Okay, shutting up now.” Something pinged and she scurried off to check. “Go. Have tea. Busy now.”

Ducky chuckled. “Well, we now have our marching orders, don’t we?”

Jimmy hovered a bit as he replied. “We do. So ... tea. Come on.”

“Don’t hover, Jimmy, I’m not dizzy. Tea would be lovely.” Ducky patted Jimmy on the shoulder then led the way to his desk in Autopsy and a nice cup of tea to wash down the Grunt Candy.

.

Tony eyed the ratty truck and sighed. “Well, shit. That’s our ride?”

The driver shrugged. “Sorry.”

“Okay, never mind. It’ll get us where we’re going.”

Everyone climbed into the bed of the half-ton pickup and settled on the narrow wooden benches along the sides.

Remy checked his phone. “No fuckin’ bars. Didn’t expect any, but a man can hope.”

Dean shook his head. “Don’t like it, my damn gut’s gone crazy. Somethin’s not right.”

“Join the club. This whole fuckin’ mission is ... whack. Nothin’s gone wrong on an epic scale, but nothin’s right either.”

Cosmo nodded. “Our contact just fuckin’ disappeared with a damn message that the tango is dead. The pick-up failed, but left us ... this.” He waved a hand. “What the actual fuck? AJ?”

Tony shook his head mournfully. “Someone hates us.” He settled back, banged on the top of the cab and called, “Put wheels under this bitch.” The truck pulled out with its cargo of disgusted SEAL’s.

What was supposed to be a quick in-and-out pickup of a valuable asset had turned into some sort of scavenger hunt for a way out of the country. Tony was wondering what was actually going on.

.

Lieutenant Sam Brown, also known as Belt, eyed the email like it was explosive. In a way, it was. He knew that DiNozzo’s team was out of contact, and he couldn’t get the intel to them… but he wished he could. They were all going to go mental. He sent an email back saying that, if they needed anything he could provide, he’d send it ASAP.

When Captain Rafe McKinley, the East Coast Commander got his CC, he just sighed and said, “Well, fuck.” He was pissed. He liked Ducky; everyone liked him. This resulted in his sending Gibbs an email saying the same thing Lt. Sam Brown had.  
.

Gibbs turned to his computer as it dinged for the second time in five minutes. This sort of activity wasn’t that unusual, but he was on edge and needed a distraction for a few minutes.

He smiled as he announced, “Got two emails, one from Belt, the other from Captain McKinley. They’re offering us whatever we need to capture PO Reynolds. I’m sure that extends to international operations.” He smirked. “I intend to follow the trail to the head. I know he, or she, didn’t have anything to do with the attack on Ducky ... but I want their ass anyway. If it wasn’t for them, our perps wouldn’t have been on our radar, Ducky wouldn’t have been looking at PO Jackson.” He shut up, shrugged, and returned to his computer.

Gibbs had finally completed his computer class, due to unceasing nagging from both Tony and Tim, so he was capable of doing more than demanding something be done. Right now he was trying to trace the thefts of vehicles from a fifty-mile search area centered on their murder site. It was actually named; Churchwarden Mews. Some realtor had thought that naming the old farms would make them more attractive to new buyers. So now he was struggling with finding his info without the help of the locals. The officer in charge of vehicle thefts had actually told him, “You’re so much better than we locals are, have at it. I’ll give you access to our database; good luck.” Gibbs hadn’t liked the smirk in the man’s voice. He liked it even less now that he’d gotten a good look at the spreadsheet- style data base. And now he was realizing that Tony’s constant, “Be nice. It’s free, and bad attitude will always come back to bite you in the ass.” Only Tony had been deflecting, soothing, and otherwise fixing the consequences. 

“Damn it. I can’t make heads or tails of this.” Gibbs eyed the spreadsheet, which was showing results sorted by vehicle type. The first entry went back to 1998 and was marked, “Totaled.” “McGee! Get over here and fix this. I have no idea.”

Tim got up and went to Gibbs to see what the problem was. “Oh, spreadsheet. Click here, then here. That what you want?”

Gibbs eyed the monitor for a moment; the sheet was now sorted by most recent, then location. “Yeah. Show me how you did that.” Tim did, then returned to his own desk.

Gibbs spent the next two hours making calls to owners of stolen cars and trucks, trying to find someone who’d seen something, even if they didn’t know what they’d seen.

Finally he contacted a woman who had reported her 2000-something Toyota Corolla stolen that morning. When he asked how she’d noticed so quickly, she replied, “Well, I heard it start up; motor’s going bad. Sounds like a lawnmower with a squeak. I ran out and just caught the brake lights turning North. Called it right in. Not like I need the damn thing ... had it listed on Craigslist ... but still.”

Gibbs nodded absently. “And distinguishing features? Dings, scrapes ... anything like that?”

“Not to notice. It had a bit of a sag in the back bumper, left to right facing the rear. Or driver’s side to passenger. It’s faded red. Nothing else. Oh, if you do find it, take some good pictures for the insurance.”

“Yes, ma’am, we’ll do that. Thank you for your help.” Gibbs hung up. “Well, son of a bitch. Not like it’s not the most damn common fuckin’ piece a’ shit on the planet.”

Tim sighed. “No shit. BOLO?”

“Yeah, I’ve got it. Good luck with any results though. A red 2004 Toyota Corolla? How many thousands of them are on the highway right now? And how many people can tell a 2004 from any other year?” Gibbs’ expression was more than stormy. 

Ned was seated at what was now considered the bad luck desk; it had been Kate’s, then Ziva’s, so no one wanted to sit at it. He had been assigned to tracing any connection between Reynolds and a major drug dealer. His mother was CIA, so he had some connections he could tap. 

“I’ve got requests for intel in with several of my contacts. I’m sorry to say that it might be tomorrow before anyone can come through for us. But ... I’m sure they will.” He rubbed his face wearily. “Coffee?”

Gibbs thought for several moments. “No. Go home. Get some rest. We’ll be watch an’ watch for a while, so three S’s when we can. I’m gonna check on Ducky.”

Everyone gathered their gear and headed out. It was late afternoon by now, and everyone was hungry and tired. 

Tim paced Gibbs. “Jimmy will take Ducky home. We’ll take care of him. But what about you?”

“I’m coming home with you. That way we can stay up with Ducky. There’s three of us, so it won’t wear any of us out.”

“Okay. I wasn’t really worried; Jimmy and I can handle it, but this is better. Ducky’s more liable to obey you than either of us.” Gibbs couldn’t help his disbelieving snort. “Well, he is.”

They met Jimmy and Ducky at the elevator, so they just let them on and went down to the garage level.

Gibbs thought for a second then said, “Tim, Jimmy, you got your own vehicles?” Both men nodded. “Okay. Duck, you’ll leave your car here.”

Jimmy interrupted. “I drove him in. No need to worry about his car, it’s at home.”

“Great. Tim and I will drive ourselves, you bring Ducky. That okay with you, Ducky?”

“Fine. I’ve just about quit driving, I don’t think I see well enough. I’m fine close and middle distance, but my far sight is bad. I just don’t feel it’s worth the risk. It’s not as if I’m house-bound by it. All I have to do is ask one of the boys to take me, or call Uber.” Ducky climbed into Jimmy’s truck. “And I will admit that it’s a bit easier to get into this truck than down into the Morgan.” He shut his door and settled back to relax and enjoy his ride, if his headache would clear.

Tim grumbled, “Fuck Uber. Never, Ducky.” Ducky just shrugged and smiled.

Jimmy also had a bit to say. “If you need a ride, call one of us. I don’t trust Uber. I know most of them are really nice people, but I’m not about to trust anyone not us.”

Ducky nodded in understanding. “I do thank you, my dear boy.”

It didn’t take that long to get home, and Ducky had to admit that he was glad of it. His head was throbbing still, and he was getting very stiff; his very bones ached.

Jimmy came around to help Ducky out of the truck, which Ducky accepted a bit grudgingly. “Don’t be like AJ, Ducky. You’re hurting still, and stiff as a board. Come on. I’ll help you into the kitchen, then you can take it from there. I’d recommend a nice hot bath, supper, and early bed. Up to you, though.”

Ducky sank into the nearest chair. “I believe I’ll just sit here until there’s tea and food. Then bath and, as you recommend, early bed. And no concussion checks. If you wake me before 0600, I shall be very displeased.”

Tim walked in just then and told them, “Gibbs called me. He’s stopping by the grocery store. He said he would make that pasta that you like. Chicken, peas, and ... whatever.”

Ducky looked pleased, but said, “It’s delicious, but he shouldn’t go to so much trouble just for me.”

That got him some really disgusted looks. Tim said, “Ducky. Seriously? It’s not too much trouble. We could have lost you ... you’re not fragile or anything like that, but a fall like that ... one-hit homicide, anyone?”

“Oh! Well. I never thought about that. I’m sorry I worried you all.”

Jimmy shook his head. “Don’t apologize; it’s not your fault. When we catch that motherfucker, I’m gonna mess him up. Bad.”

Ducky blinked at Jimmy; he was usually so very polite that when he used foul language he always shocked everyone. 

Tim snorted, “Only if you get to him first. I’m worried about what AJ and the others are gonna say ... or do.”

Jimmy nodded. “Probably involve a strafing run or massive quantities of C-4 or Symtex.”

Tim laughed, “Well, AJ always says that nothing says ‘fuck you’ like a strafing run.”

Jimmy snickered, then went to make tea. As he was doing that, Gibbs walked in with several grocery bags. He put them down at what they called the prep station, then started unloading them.

“Tim, we got any of AJ’s noodles left?”

Tim opened the small deep freeze, rummaged a bit, then said, “Nope. Too bad. I’d say I’d make some but ...” he made a face. “Don’t think anyone actually wants to eat them.” His only foray into pasta-making had resulted in the toughest noodles ever. Tony had offered to use one for a bootlace.

Gibbs just shrugged. “It is too bad. But I got some store-bought. Didn’t like the look of their egg noodles, so I just got Barilla spaghettini; It’ll do.”

Jimmy interrupted to ask, “Who wants tea?”

Gibbs actually said yes when Jimmy told him it was Earl Greyer. Tim turned it down in favor of a bottled smoothie. 

So Jimmy poured tea into delicate porcelain cups, put a slice of bread and butter on Ducky’s saucer, and handed them around. He also put a small cup with two pills in it by Ducky’s elbow.

While he was doing that, Tim put a pot of water on the stove to boil.

Gibbs took the roasted chicken out of its box and started to debone it. “I wonder why they call it deboning? Don’t want the bones.”

Jimmy produced a vacuum bag and replied, “Actually, we do. AJ uses them for soup, so don’t be too particular about picking off all the meat.” He picked up the discarded skin and bones, shoved them into the bag and waited for the rest.

Gibbs took his time about boning the chicken but didn’t pick the bones as clean as he could have. When he was finished, Jimmy took the bag and vacuum sealed it, then dropped it into the freezer. “Looks like we’ve got just about enough to make a nice pot of stock.”

Ducky sipped his tea, sighed in satisfaction, then announced, “I do love that chicken and noodle soup that AJ makes. It’s also great for pot pie. I wonder what our boys are doing now?”

.

Tony eyed the truck in disgust. He’d known it was a rust bucket, but it was also a piece of junk… and broken down out in the middle of bum-fuck some ‘stan or other. And still no bars on anyone’s phone. “I’d like to get my hands on the dumb mother fucker who planned this damn goat rope.”

Dean nodded. “And it doesn’t help that half of our fuckin’ equipment wasn’t on site. Including the damn sat phone. I’m a gonna mess someone up bad.”

Cos moaned, “I told you we should have called this fucker off. I just knew that something wasn’t right the damn second half our equipment disappeared.”

Remy sighed, “So ... okay ... I tol’ ya so. Shut up. The second we get bars, someone get a GPS location. Someone else call Belt direct. An’ I’m a call Belt. AJ?”

“Fine. Dean and I will both try to GPS our location. So, hike it or wait?” By this time he was taking any and all suggestions, no matter how stupid. 

Remy pointed, “High groun’ that way. We go up, we get bars ... I hope.”

Tony agreed. “Right. So, put wheels under it.” And with that, they headed for the hills, literally, and hoped for bars soon.

.

Gibbs poured the cream into a pot and dropped the crushed garlic cloves in. He set that to warm while he grated the three cheeses. He’d modified Tony’s basic Alfredo sauce to accommodate the milder taste of chicken. That meant that he left out the white pepper and the stronger cheese rinds, sticking with the grated cheese.

Tim watched the water, waiting for it to boil. Jimmy kept an eye on Ducky.

Ducky was feeling every second of his age just now. He hurt in ways he hadn’t since his salad days when he’d been active in MI6. His last few operations had been in his 60’s when he’d partnered with Gibbs. He knew he had several bruises, not just the one on his face, and the cut on his temple was throbbing. He was also hungry and feeling a bit dizzy. He decided it was low blood sugar, so he turned to Jimmy. “Jimmy, would you be so kind as to get me a glass of juice? I’m not feeling quite the thing just now. I believe my sugar has tanked, and that tea and bread didn’t do the trick.”

Jimmy got the juice. While he was doing that he exchanged speaking looks with Gibbs. As soon as Ducky had eaten, Gibbs was going to take him upstairs and get him into a hot bath, dose him with more Grunt Candy, and put him to bed. But he was going to have to be careful; if Ducky thought for one minute that they were managing him, he’d bull up.

But Ducky was much too smart for them to slip anything by him. “Jet, if you think you’re going to get away with managing me, think again. I will, however, cooperate with a nice hot bath, more meds, and an early bed. I’m not stupid.”

Tim snorted. “No, you’re not, but you’re as stubborn as Jet with twice the experience. So ... yeah.”

Ducky managed to look both indignant and amused. “Now see here, young man…” but he trailed off into chuckles. “Never mind.”

Jimmy pointed out that the water was boiling, causing Gibbs to swear and check his sauce. If it boiled, the cream would curdle and the garlic would burn. Thankfully, it was just beginning to simmer.

Gibbs started putting the cheese into the hot cream while Jimmy dropped the spaghettini. 

“How long?”

Tim eyed the noodles. “About ten minutes. I’ll add the frozen peas in six.”

Jimmy grumbled, “Too bad there’s no garlic bread.”

Gibbs sighed. “I know, but they didn’t have any bread in the bakery department that I’d even consider. They’re always out of Italian or French, and thick-sliced sourdough just doesn’t cut it. And anything else just goes to mush. So ... sorry.” He dropped another handful of cheese into the cream. “Make salad.”

Tim obeyed, opening the fridge to get out spring greens, onion, celery, tomatoes and iceberg lettuce. He chopped the lettuce and tomatoes into chunks, sliced the celery and onions into thin slices, and tossed it all with a generous handful of the shredded cheese, some croutons, and most of a bottle of home-made Italian dressing. “There. Pasta about done?”

Jimmy tested a noodle. “Time to add the peas. Jet?”

“I’m just pickin’ out the garlic.” While he liked the big chunks of garlic in his Alfredo sauce, no one else did, so he picked them out and tossed them. As soon as that was done he put the coarsely chopped chicken in, added a shake of white pepper, and then the drained spaghettini and peas. “There. All done. I’ll plate it up so we don’t make a mess serving it. Salad done?”

Tim called, “On the table. Want me to help with the plates?”

“Could do.” Gibbs picked up two plates and carried them to the table. Tim picked up two more and followed him.

Gibbs set one plate in front of Ducky and the other at his place. Tim gave one of his plates to Jimmy and settled in. 

Ducky breathed in happily. “Smells so good. Thank you, Jethro.”

“Welcome, Duck. How’s your head?” Gibbs poked at his food for a moment then began twisting some noodles onto his fork. 

“Good. Aches, but not that badly any more. I would have gotten a bottle of wine but ... I’m a bit selfish. If I can’t have any, no one else can either.”

Jimmy shrugged. “I don’t particularly care if I have wine or not. I know AJ really likes a good bottle, but I can’t tell one from another. Uneducated pallet, so AJ says.” He saluted Tim with his glass of ice tea. “This is fine with me.”

Ducky frowned at the glass and muttered, “Philistine. Ice in tea. Dreadful.” His twinkling eyes belied his words.

Tim just took a swallow of his coffee and kept his own opinion to himself; that was that ice tea was for summer, coffee to keep awake. He was always a bit surprised at the heat in some arguments over quality wine. It was all just grape juice when all was said and done. He could almost feel the smack AJ would land on the back of his head for that bit of sacrilege. 

Gibbs shrugged, “Some people care, some are just snobs who want to show off. If you like it, drink it; if you don’t, don’t. Pass the pepper grinder, please.”

Tim pushed it over so Gibbs could grind pepper onto his salad and pasta. “Why do you put white pepper in the sauce but black on top?”

Gibbs chewed then swallowed. “I use white so there’s no little black specks in the sauce. Looks like fleas. But I like black pepper on top and on my salad. Different flavors.”

“Oh. Wondered.” Tim went back to his food with a slight frown on his face. “I need to get up early. I’m sure my searches will be done by 0600 or so.”

Gibbs nodded. “I ordered everyone home because we’re not going to do any good at all, so we might as well rest.”

Ducky smiled at Gibbs. “AJ would be so proud.” 

Tim nodded. “He would.” 

They settled into silence as they finished their food.

Ducky sighed. “It was very good, Jethro, thank you very much.” He eased to his feet. “I believe I’ll beg off on cleanup tonight. It’s a nice warm bath for me.”

Gibbs stood up. “I’ll come up with you.”

Ducky looked indignant for a second then said, “I assure you that I’m perfectly capable of getting into and out of the tub by myself.”

“I’m sure you are. Unless you fall asleep in it. Wouldn’t look good in the obit. ‘Dr. Donald Mallard drowns in bathtub.’ Yeah. So cool.”

“Damnit, Jethro,” Ducky snickered. “Very well, come along, then.” He ambled off in the direction of the stairs, careful to keep his stride casual.

He was well aware that Jethro would follow him up the stairs, not because of any respect but simply to make sure that he didn’t crack his head open by falling down them.

Ducky went into his room, gathered his pajamas, bathrobe, and slippers. He left his dirty clothing in the hamper in his closet and went to run his bath. He was pleased to see that Jethro had started it running for him. “Wonderful,” he called, “Thank you, Jethro.”

“Welcome. Take some candy before you get in.”

“I will. You know, this reminds me of that time in ...” Ducky continued his story about a time in his twenties when he’d done some improbable thing in a hot spring. Gibbs listened absently while he pondered his scant evidence.

This was one of those cases he hated; it probably wouldn’t get solved. PO Mark Reynolds was a very tiny fish in a very big pond. A pond that was probably going to suck him in and grind him to nothing. It would be nice to solve it, though. It might lead to one or two of the bigger fish. Maybe.

What really pissed him off was, the jerk had hurt Ducky and wouldn’t pay for it. Not if the Colombians decided different. Or, they might just get mad and off the fucker themselves because he’d brought attention to them. If that was the case they’d never find the body, or he’d be executed in public via Colombian Necktie.

Gibbs finally gave up his brooding to go check on Ducky. He knocked on the closed door then called, “Ducky? You okay? Need anything?”

Ducky replied, “Come in, Jethro. I’m decent.”

Gibbs opened the door to see Ducky sitting on a small stool dressed in his bathrobe and slippers. He grinned. “Managed it that far?”

“Yes, but I admit that I am going to need an arm to make it to my bed. I’m so stiff. The bath helped but ... ouch.” He smiled a bit then pointed. “The analgesics I want are there. If you would.”

Gibbs picked up a bottle. “This one?” At Ducky’s nod, he shook two into his palm and offered them to him. “Here you go.”

Ducky took the pills out of Gibbs’ hand and crunched them up then followed with a half glass of water. “Thank you. That should do the trick. Now, me for bed.”

Gibbs helped him to his room and into bed. He pulled the covers up until Ducky could reach them while saying, “You need anything just yell. Jimmy’s gonna stay up to do a concussion check in four hours, then I’ll be up. Tim sleeps like a dead man, so I’ll have to wake him for the last shift.”

“Thank you all but I really don’t feel that that will be necessary.”

Gibbs just patted Ducky’s shoulder. “If you were one of the boys I’d smack your head. Deal.” And with that he ambled out the door, shut it quietly, and headed for his room.

Jimmy stopped him for a moment. “I’ll be awake, you sleep. Don’t lay there brooding over what we can’t help. You need your sleep.” He held up a hand. “And don’t give me that Marine Sniper shit. You can, but you don’t need to. You know the old saying.”

Gibbs did, so he just nodded and went to bed. He’d wake up in time to change watch with Jimmy, that was just the way he was.

.

 

Chapter two

Cos eyed his phone. “Got two bars. I’ll wait until I’ve got four before I try anything. What number should I call?”

Tony thought for a moment then said, “Try the local contact first. If that fails, which I’d bet you real money it will, try the NCIS agent in Juffair. If we had sat link I’d say just call Belt. Might be able to get a direct connection through Juffair but I wouldn’t hold my breath.”

The next check showed five bars, so Cos hit speed dial and waited. He got a connection and they lucked out, the desk had been given instructions, via Director Vance, to patch them through to the Air Force base. It didn’t take five minutes to get coordinates for an immediate pickup.

Dean offered, “It’s only three klicks North. I’d say cake walk, but I’m not jinxin’ us.”

They were half way there when Cos’s phone vibrated. The man on the other end was apologetic but told them that there was activity at their pickup point so they needed to go to the secondary point which was about two klicks east of their current position. So they humped it in the new direction.

They were now at the secondary pick up point and he could hear the chopper. He was hoping for an eventless extraction but… hope in one hand, shit in the other, and see which one fills up first. 

Dean and Cos were sacked out on each other despite the heat. Everyone was tired, pissed and worried. Remy was watching the other 180 from Tony. 

Cos twitched, poked Dean then grumbled, “Better be our bird. I’m tired a’ this.”

Tony agreed adding, “And I’m gonna find out who was responsible for this goat rope and run ’im into the ground. He’s gonna be doin’ PT until he drops.”

The chopper landed and the door opened. “Someone call for a ride?”

“Bet your ass. Thanks, man.” 

They all clambered into the chopper and settled in. The airman closed the door and they took off.

.

Ducky woke up when Jimmy patted his foot. “Yes?”

“Concussion check.” Jimmy went through all the checks, patiently listening while Ducky grumbled. When he was done he just said, “Now you know how AJ feels. Go back to sleep.”

Ducky pulled the covers back up and went to sleep again. He knew the next check was in four hours but he was used to waking at odd hours so it wasn’t that much of a problem.

The next check went much like the first only Ducky glanced at his clock and realized that it was 0600. He was used to getting up at that hour anyway, so he got up and dressed. He was downstairs making tea when Tim came looking for him. 

“Ducky?”

“Yes? Tea?” He held up the pot.

“Yeah, I’ll have a cup with you. How’re you feelin’?”

“Good, good. Head still aches a bit, but other than some stiffness, I’m fine.”

Jimmy entered, yawning and scratching. “Morning. Tea?”

“The water is on the boil just now.” Ducky picked up the kettle and poured water into the pot; he swirled it around then dumped it into the sink. He dumped the ready measured leaves into the pot, then added water. “There. I’ll just pop the cozy on and we’ll have tea.”

Gibbs grumbled, “And coffee.”

Ducky just smirked and poured the last of the water into a press pot. “Deal with that yourself, Grumpy.”

Gibbs chuckled as he stirred the grounds in the pot. He took a deep breath. “Smells good. Thanks.”

They settled at the table to drink their coffee or tea and decide what they wanted for breakfast.

Ducky was of the opinion that they all ought to have oatmeal; everyone else was of the opinion that Ducky could have it but they wanted something else… anything else.

Tim finally got up and said, “Pancakes, bacon, scrambled eggs. You want something else, make it. Ducky, I’ll make your oatmeal.”

Ducky chuckled softly. “Very well, thank you.”

Tim put the bowl of oatmeal into the microwave. Tony had started making it in the rice cooker and storing about a week’s worth in the fridge. Ducky ate a bowl almost every morning, claimed it kept him regular, which made everyone snicker.

As the oatmeal warmed, Tim started cracking eggs. Jimmy ambled over, dug out a frying pan, and started putting bacon in it.

Tim asked, “Don’t you need to heat the pan first?”

“No; if you put cold bacon into a hot pan, it’ll do two things. First, it’ll spatter and pop; second, it’ll shrink like the dickens. So cold pan, cold meat.” Jimmy turned on the heat then got out of the way so Tim could put another pan on for the eggs.

It wasn’t long before they had eggs, bacon, toast, and more coffee. 

Gibbs accepted his plate with a ‘thank you’. Ducky also thanked Tim for his oatmeal.

Tim always thought that plain oatmeal was wallpaper paste masquerading as food, so he dressed it up. This time it was dried cranberries, cream, and honey, with just a dash of cinnamon. 

While they ate, they discussed what they knew of the case. It wasn’t that much. PO Reynolds had murdered PO Jackson because of either money or drugs, or both. Where the money and drugs had come from was one question; the guns could be accounted for easily. Where the drugs were going was another question.

Jimmy offered, “Neither one of them was a user, and that’s a bit unusual. Both had residue on their fingers. Abby amended my report; she also found lots of gunpowder residue on both of them.”

Gibbs scowled. “And how do you know that?”

“She stayed in the lab until she finished her tests ... at about 2230 ... emailed me the results. I read them this morning, first thing.”

“Oh. She send anyone else this?”

Tim nodded. “She sent me a full copy of the report to my phone. I haven’t read it all yet; just the highlights.” He piled eggs on his toast, then crammed it into his mouth. “Mmm.” He swallowed a bit convulsively then continued. “I need to get in fairly quickly, my results should be in by 0830.”

Gibbs crunched his last strip of bacon ―Ducky had stolen a couple― then said, “We’ll leave as soon as I’m done cleaning up.” He stuffed the last of his eggs and toast into his mouth and took his plate to the dishwasher. “If we can follow the money, we’ll learn something.”

Tim blinked for a second then asked, “Is that a movie reference?”

Gibbs gave him bitch face as he asked, “Movie? Seriously?”

Jimmy poked Tim in the shoulder. “Probably not, dumb ass.”

“Well, that’s Jerry Maguire, 1996; Tom Cruise and Cuba Gooding, Jr. with ... um ... Renee Zellweger. I think.” Tim finished his food and tea. He handed his dishes to Gibbs. “Thanks, Jet.”

Fifteen minutes later they were headed back to NCIS.

Gibbs drove in his company car with Tim, and Ducky rode with Jimmy. It didn’t take them long to get through the checkpoint and into the parking garage. Jimmy didn’t offer to help Ducky, but he kept an eye on his friend, just in case.

They rode up to Autopsy, where Ducky and Jimmy got off; the squad room was two floors above that. The second Gibbs and Tim exited the elevator, Tim headed for his desk and a beeping computer. Someone yelled, “Glad you’re here, that damn thing started beeping about five minutes ago.”

Tim yelled back, “Well, you know how to turn it off,” then sat down to check his results, ignoring the grumbled, “Yeah, touch your desk? No thanks.” It was well known that the usually mild mannered Tim McGee would mess you up if you touched his computers.

Gibbs just barked, “Damn it, wha’do ya got?”

Tim clicked his mouse, then said, “Traced the guns ... or some of them. They were sold to three different men at a gun show in ... never mind. They aren’t re-registered, but the dumb asses paid with either a check or credit card. The finances all point to Colombian contacts. There’s a new group called the Black Hand. Reference to Sherlock Holmes that you don’t care about, but it might lead to something.” He turned to his keyboard and entered some search parameters, then went back to his report. “I’ll run facials, but I’m not expecting much. Driver’s licenses, Navy ID, that sort of thing will show up. But ... since I don’t know what routes they might have taken to and from anywhere useful, I can’t call up security camera footage. If we could do that, we might find a contact and be able to trace them back to a higher-up. No chance.”

Gibbs sighed. “I know. Do what you can. See if someone ... Fornell ... knows anything.”

“Okay.” Tim sighed. “I wish Tony and the others would come home.”

“Me too.” Gibbs tried to get hold of Belt to see when the SEALs would be back. He got a message that said he was away from his desk, leave a message, etc. He hung up, grumbling wordlessly.

.

Tony sighed happily; the shower was lukewarm and felt wonderful. He felt like he had sand everywhere. Groans and moans from the others told their own tale. They were all glad to be back in Germany and on their way back to the States.

Dean grumbled, “Too bad Belt has already found that idiot who planned this ...CATFU mission. Wonder if there’s gonna be anything left for us?”

Cos snorted, then said, “Nope. You know that a soup sandwich brings out the DI in Belt and the CO. Bet that jackwad is mopping floors in Outer Mongolia about now.” 

“Fine. But me? I want a big bowl o’ Miss Abby’s gumbo an’ some dirty rice an’ maybe some sausage pie. Yum.” Remy sighed in anticipation then began to sing a Cajun folk song.

It didn’t take them long to finish their showers and get dressed in clean BDU’s. A quick trip through the mess, and they were back on a plane headed Stateside. No one bothered to check their phones for messages; there was nothing they could do but worry.

.

Abby eyed the piles of evidence with a rather jaundiced eye. There was a lot of obvious trash, bottles and cans, pizza boxes, and Chinese takeout containers. She had managed to convince legal that takeout was way down the list of useful evidence. With a sigh she started sorting the mess into categories. She referred to them as “first priority,” “second priority,” “maybe,” and “holy crap, why did they even bother.” The last category was actually put aside in a bin to be tested tomorrow, and you know tomorrow never comes.

Gibbs stuck his head in the door and then eased in. Abby was in a snit and snapping at everyone. He’d come down to see what the actual problem was. “Abbs?”

“What!” Abby turned around, saw Gibbs and sighed, “Sorry. Really sorry. I’m working as fast as my babies can but ... I’m not getting much of anything. I can tell you that there were four people at the house at one time or another, but I can only identify two so far. I’m just finishing up the DNA profiles on the two unidentified people. As soon as that’s done, I’ll start running them through the Navy database and CODIS. If I fail there, I’ll try Interpol and ...” Gibbs cleared his throat. “Okay ... several others. That’ll take most of the day to process, so while that’s running, I’m going to start other tests that you’re not interested in but they’re really, really important and ... how dare that awful man hit poor Ducky! I’d like to smack him upside the head with something really hard. You’ll smack him for me, won’t you, Gibbs?”

Gibbs sighed, “Damn it, Abby, how many Caf-Pows have you had already?”

“Um ... three? Or four? Not sure. I got here at like five a.m. and started. There were results that came in then, so I just came in to check and, since I was already here, I went to work. And ... maybe I did overdo just a bit.” She held out caffeine shaky hands then clenched them into fists. “Bad. Now what?”

Gibbs took her hand. “You come up to the bullpen and sit at the guest desk and eat. Come on.” He tugged at her hand. “Now. The tests will run without you standing over them. Your health is more important than nurse-maiding this. Ducky will shake his head at you.”

Abby followed obediently saying, “Well, I am a bit hungry and I really don’t want Ducky to be disappointed in me and he will shake his head at me. I don’t like it when Ducky shakes his head at me, it’s not good. Will he be mad at me? You think he’ll be mad?”

“No, Ducky won’t be mad at you, nor disappointed. He’ll understand, but come on now. I’ll send Dorney out to get you a breakfast burrito.” 

Gibbs pulled Abby into the elevator, punched the button for the squad room level, and waited for the doors to open again. 

He maneuvered her into the chair at the guest desk and ordered, “Stay!” then turned to Ned Dorneget. “Ned, go to the burrito place and get us all a burrito. Abby’s had three or four Giant Gulp Caf-Pows already. Go.”

Ned gave Abby a wide-eyed look, then scurried for the elevator, shaking his head. “On it, Boss.”

.

Now back State-side, Tony decided to check his phone.

A few moments later Tony eyed his phone with an expression that, should that device have been sentient, would have sent it running. He’d finally decided that it was safe to check his messages; he was rethinking that.

He wasn’t the only one; the scowls on the faces of all the SEALs made a Midshipman do an about face and head in the opposite direction. 

Tony let loose with a tirade of swearing, curses, and threats that actually brought Shore Patrol on the run. The rest of the SEALs were no better, only a bit quieter.

The WO in charge of the Shore Patrol team approached carefully; there was no telling what had brought about this explosion from a team fresh from combat. “Sir? What’s the problem? Can we help?”

Tony was abruptly aware that they were scaring the “children.” “Sorry. We all just got some bad news. Some jackwad knocked a friend of ours down. He’s ... like seventy-something ... pissed us off. Sorry for the upset. We’ll tone it down.”

WO Cobb relaxed. “Okay. Just keep it down.”

Tony looked around; they were standing in a clear spot nearly ten feet in diameter. “Damn. We look that bad?”

“BAMF all the way, dude. Where you headed?”

“DC. Ride’s on the way. We’ll just...” He gestured vaguely. “Yeah.”

WO Cobb shrugged. “Come with us. You’re not in any trouble, but we’ll get you somewhere to meet your ride. Out of line of sight of the civvies and ... whoever.”

All the spectators drew a sigh of relief when the small group gathered up their rucks and followed the contingent of SP’s down a hall and out of sight.

They went to a small lounge that was obviously for the employees. WO Cobb pointed. “Coffee’s good. There’s no food except for the machines. If you need to make a land-line call, dial #3 then the number. I better get back on the floor.” He smiled, then hurried out.

Tony rubbed his face with one hand. “Well, shit. Fuck.”

Cos said, “I’ll call Jimmy for a real update; everyone else shut the fuck up.”

Tony nodded. “Put it on speaker.”

“That’s why I’m callin’. My phone has the loudest one.” Cos dialed, punched the speaker icon, and waited.

“Palmer. Who is calling please?”

“Jimmy, it’s Cos. What’s the matter with your heads-up?”

“Nothing, I just have bile on my gloves. Hit the connect with my elbow.”

“Oh. Tell us about Ducky. What the actual hell?”

Jimmy gave them a quick run-down of what had happened and Ducky’s current condition, ending, “So he’s mainly pissed. Don’t break anything getting back, but be prepared to deal with a pissed-off Jet. Tim’s not much better, Abby’s Caf-Powed out, and I’m slightly homicidal. If Vance could do it, he’d issue a shoot on sight. Gotta go. Bye.”

Cos hung up; Tony rubbed his face. “Where the fuck is our ride?”

Dean left the room, returning quickly to tell them that their ride was there. They all trooped out, tossed their rucks into the belly bins, and found a seat. Cos mumbled something about “short bus” that got him a smack on the shoulder from Remy.

Remy retaliated by picking him up and carrying him onto the bus, then dumping him in a seat. “There, homme. Sit an’ stay out a’ trouble.”

Cos shrugged. “I’m sleepin’ until we get there. We’re gonna be workin’ our asses off until something breaks in this case. No one hurts Ducky an’ gets away with it.”

The rest of the men agreed with this. The driver boarded, announced, “We’re puttin’ wheels under this. Belt up.”

Dean demanded, “You mean put on our seat belts or shut up?”

The driver replied, “Both.”

They fastened their seat belts, shut their mouths, and settled in to sleep until DC. 

.

Abby greeted Ducky in Autopsy with a simple request. “Ducky! I’m so glad to see you. Are you alright? I need some samples, just to check. If PO Jackson was using, that’d be a reason that PO Reynolds might get pissed at him, so I need some blood. Jimmy did a good job with the report, but he didn’t draw any samples. I need them ... like ... now. Okay?”

Jimmy, who was right behind Ducky, got a bit irritated. “I brought you a complete set of samples. You told me to put them in the fridge. And I did ... right in front in the lab fridge. So don’t say I put them in the wrong one. I put them in the one I always do.” He took a deep breath, ready to defend himself.

Abby had other ideas. “What? I checked before I came down. I’ll go back and check again but if you’re sending me on a wild goose chase ... well, that dog won’t hunt.” She trotted out, scowling, to recheck.

Ducky sighed and sat down at his desk. “Well, she certainly has had too much Caf-Pow.”

Jimmy nodded. “She has. Vance limited her to two cups a day ... but he only thinks in ... standards. She’s been drinking two Double Big Gulps; that’s ... um ... one is somewhere around 96 ounces.”

Ducky frowned. “I’d really like to get a kidney function on that woman. That much caffeine and sugar can’t be good for her. Not to mention the wear and tear on her nerves.”

Jimmy agreed. “Seriously. Since I cut out soda, I don’t get near as much indigestion but ... I think Abby drinks diet. And that’s not that good for her either, as artificial sweeteners have their own hazards.”

They agreed that, if Abby continued to abuse herself with Caf-Pow, they’d have to tell Gibbs. 

After that short conversation, they turned to the next autopsy they needed to do. Ducky settled in to watch and kibitz while Jimmy did the actual work. Ducky was very happy with Jimmy’s work and was more and more easing him into the actual work while he advised and evaluated the findings. He was getting old, after all, or older. And he had several papers he wanted to write.

.

When they reached the outskirts of DC Metro, the driver pulled over in a parking lot, woke them, and asked, “Okay, we’re in DC Metro. Where, exactly, do you want to go?”

Tony took a quick head count then said, “Who wants to go home first?” Everyone indicated that they did. “Okay. Mallard Manor is closest, then GHQ. I’ll be headed in to the Yard as soon as I get cleaned up. I expect to see you all there within the hour.”

The driver didn’t care where he went first se he informed them that, “I get paid by the mile. You wanna go to Chicago? I’m your man. So ... addresses.”

Tony gave him the addresses and sat back in his seat. He was a bit disgusted to realize that no one had thought to give the driver more than DC as an address.

After consulting his GPS the driver announced, “Okay, that first address is an hour out, and then twenty minutes to the second.”

When Tony was dropped off he got his ruck and trotted inside. It didn’t take him long to empty his ruck, sort his clothing into clean and dirty, then drop the dirty in the laundry room. He was a bit amused to see that his clean pile contained a pair of boxers and two t-shirts. 

“I swear, doesn’t matter how many pairs of socks I take, I run out. And clean pants? Really.” He complained to himself. Gathering what he needed, he went to shower, shave, and make himself decent. 

.

Things were going about as expected at GHQ. Dean was bitching about not having anything clean, Cos was explaining to him that, if he’d do his laundry before he was damn near naked, this wouldn’t happen… all at the same time. Remy just ignored both of them and went to shower. He wasn’t amused to find that he didn’t have anything much clean either. He grumbled, “An’ why we t’ink it good idea t’ take every last stitch a’ clothin’ we got, I’ll never know.”

And why none of them had done laundry before leaving, no one knew either. They all had civvies, but since they were going on a case, they wanted uniforms. This was serious to all of them, and, as the saying goes, rank hath its privileges.

Remy called Tony, “AJ. What we wearin’? I got nothing but blacks clean. Bit formal?”

Tony, who was already in blacks, said, “Blacks it is. I’m leavin’ in five.”

“On your six. We’re puttin’ wheels under this in ten.”

.

They arrived at about the same time, checked through, and headed upstairs. 

Tony knew that agents were pressing themselves against the walls to let them by, but he didn’t care. He ordered, “Autopsy first. See Ducky for ourselves, then on up.”

“Sir!” Dean, Cos, and Remy weren’t about to argue, none of them would feel comfortable until they’d seen their friend for themselves.

At first glance Ducky looked fine, but when he turned to greet them the damage was obvious. Ducky’s face had bloomed into one of those bruises that looks bad and feels worse. The bruising was centered low on his temple, surrounding the cut. It covered half his face from forehead to jawline and was all the colors a bruise could be.

Tony and crew went from a bit annoyed to flamin’ pissed in a split second.

“Damn it, Ducky. We got a perp? Where is he?” 

Ducky chuckled, “I saw the man, but we already had an ID. The only reason I was there, with Jimmy, I might add, is that Gibbs went with Tim and Ned to arrest our DB and our perp for ... something. Not entirely sure exactly what, but they found PO Jackson dead, and PO Reynolds knocked me down whilst evading arrest. Now, I’m fine; go help Jet before he ruptures something.”

Jimmy nodded. “Go, go. I’ve got my eye on him.” He tapped one forefinger beneath his eye with a wink then waved them away.

Tony eyed them both for a moment, then said, “Call if you need anything,” and with that, they were gone.

.

Gibbs didn’t even look up when the elevator door opened; he just pointed to Tim’s desk and said, “Tim and Dorney got on it. No results yet. Someone’s blocking us. AJ, see if you can’t call someone and find something out. You squids are going to go interview all his friends on base. Go, I want something by 1700 ... latest.”

No one argued that they’d just got in, nor that they didn’t know who his friends were. Tony looked at Tim. “Email me a list.”

“On it.” Tim clattered at his keyboard for a moment, then Tony’s phone beeped.

“Got it.” The whole team of SEALs turned around and walked back into the elevator and disappeared when the doors closed.

Gibbs was headed out for a cup of coffee; as he entered the elevator, Vance joined him. “Got a call from FBI Director―”

Gibbs didn’t care about the name so he interrupted, “What do the feebs want?”

Vance, well aware that telling Gibbs the name wouldn’t matter, went on, “They want a share of your case. They’re saying that they have jurisdiction since it involves the Colombians, arms, and drugs. I told them we have jurisdiction because all the perps seem to be Navy, our vic was Navy, and they hurt Ducky.” He bit down on a toothpick to keep from grinding his teeth.

“How well did that go over?” Gibbs didn’t much care as, no matter what anyone said, the case was his.

“Not that well. But I managed to stave them off by offering to share information.” He smirked at Gibbs’ huff. “Don’t huff at me. I got a lot more than I gave. It’s on its way to McGee as we speak.”

Gibbs thought about that for a sec, “Come on, I’ll buy. McGee will have something by the time we get back.”

It took them about five minutes to walk to the coffee shop, at a pace that left Vance panting. Gibbs looked amused as he said, “Might want to look into some exercise.”

Leon just snorted, “Shut up.”

They ordered their coffee and Gibbs ordered one for both Tim and Ned. Vance insisted on paying.

Leon was on the horns of a dilemma. He knew that Gibbs was very tight-fisted when it came to his cases, but they had to share if they wanted the FBI to share back. And the FBI wanted the case; they were selfish about such things. He grumbled, “Who would have thought that one of the prime agencies would be so bad about sharing recognition. Seriously.”

Gibbs just shrugged. “Fifteen minutes of fame. If you’re not constantly in the public eye, they tend to forget you. FBI is well aware of that and cares desperately. We’re more about actually gettin’ the job done. Forget them, I’ll handle it.” 

Leon grimaced. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

“Oh, hell. They get what they deserve.”

“Yeah, but it doesn’t look good for us when you insult reporters to their faces.” Leon remembered the last interview Gibbs had been present at; it hadn’t been pretty.

“If they act like fools, they get treated like fools. Would it kill them to wait their turn?” Gibbs was of the opinion that raising your hand and waiting to be recognized worked a lot better than screaming in someone’s face.

Leon Vance, Director of NCIS, shook his head. “The jerks don’t have a clue. Never heard of Robert’s Rules of Order, and wouldn’t observe them if they did. The only reason my press conferences don’t descend into chaos is, I don’t let them. If someone is really out of hand, they have to leave ... with help, if necessary.” He nodded once. “And that’s why I should handle the interviews.”

“Fine, then. Have it your way.” Gibbs grinned at his friend, “I don’t mind in the least.”

Vance eyed Gibbs. “I’ve been managed, haven’t I?”

Gibbs just looked smug and drank coffee.

. 

Tim eyed the email and decided that NCIS had gotten the best of the deal. The spreadsheet detailed which ship had been in what port when drugs or arms had entered. It seemed that three ships were involved, but something wasn’t quite adding up. He just had to figure out what it was.

Ned eyed his own copy of the spreadsheet for a moment then said, “There has to be a commonality, but I’m not seeing it. Maybe Gibbs?”

Tim nodded. “We just present what we’ve got and let AJ, or maybe Remy? Anyway, someone will see what we’re not. That’s why we’re so good at what we do. Diversity of experience.”

Ned agreed, “And that’s why I’m enjoying working in the Temporary Assigned Duty pool. I get to work with every team and I’ve even been seconded to other offices. I actually got to work with Dwane Pride in New Orleans. That was interesting.” He sighed. “And the food? Man, I gained three pounds.”

They were laughing softly when Gibbs returned. 

“I hope you’ve found something.” He gave Ned a warning glance.

Tim just put both spreadsheets up on the monitors. “We sorta do. But ... well, something’s not clicking, so we waited for you.”

Ned did the presentation so that Tim could analyze without being distracted. Gibbs looked the whole mess over, but nothing clicked for him either. He swore, then sat down at his desk to go over the spreadsheet in detail, again.

.

Tony eyed the CWO that he was interviewing. The man was being uncooperative. He wasn’t refusing to answer questions, he was just giving the bare minimum of information. It was like pulling teeth. 

“Okay, man, what is your malfunction? There’s drugs and guns coming into the country from Colombia. We’re trying to find out how, and you’re not helping. PO Reynolds murdered PO Jackson over it. We need to find Reynolds. We need to shut down the pipeline. So what the actual fuck?”

CWO Adams shrugged, looking embarrassed. “We ... I thought I was protecting a shipmate from a bad charge. Prove your claims.”

Tony just brought up a report on his phone and handed it over. CWO Adams read quickly then handed the phone back. He rubbed his face with both hands then said, “Well, shit. This sucks.” He actually put his head down on the table.

Tony left him alone while he worked his way through the problem.

“Okay. Let me talk to the men. We were told ... by CWO Nix ... that the charges were unsubstantiated and this is just a fishing expedition. Might want to put Nix on the spot.”

“Great. Thanks, man. Spread the word.” Tony sighed, “And I need to speak to your CO. Sorry.”

“No, Ltcmdr, I’ll take the heat. I deserve it. I listened to scuttlebutt instead of common sense.”

While CWO Adams was sorting himself, Tony checked in with Remy, Dean, and Cos. 

Since Remy was checking manifests and various logs, he wasn’t having much trouble. On the other hand, Dean and Cos were being stonewalled just like he was. He told Dean and Cos to send their interviews to a wardroom the Captain had put aside for them. All the men and women they were interested in were to be gathered there so that Captain Hennessy could speak to them. He hoped that would grease the wheels a bit. 

It didn’t take long for the Captain to rip them all a new one and inform them that they were all on report. He also ordered them to cooperate or wind up in the brig. CWO Nix turned out to be UA. 

Tony called the Shore Patrol and ordered them to find and arrest him. He had a feeling that Nix was their key to finding Reynolds. This whole case was one giant SNAFU.

After talking to Shore Patrol, Tony turned back to his interviews, only to find that the Captain had ordered everyone to write down anything they knew, keep it short, and make sure it was truthful. Everyone was industriously scribbling when he looked.

“Well, thanks for that. We’re getting nowhere fast and I want this fuckwad bad.”

“I heard. Don’t know Dr. Mallard personally, but I’ve heard really good things. He really talk to the ... er.”

“DBs. And, yes, he does. He says that, as he expects them to speak to him, it’s only fair.” He noticed the expression on the Captain’s face and added, “Not actually. He says that they speak to him via the evidence on them. Kinda creepy until you think about it.”

Captain Hennessy thought for a moment, then brightened, “I see. Makes sense, sorta.”

“Yeah, Ducky’s an original. Really good ME, old as fuck, sharp as a new blade. You’re not sneaking anything by him.” Tony glanced at the door and saw Remy, Dean, and Cos slip in. “Hey.”

Remy shrugged, “Got a bunch a’ information an’ not sure exactly what any a’ it means. Need Digimon to go over it.”

Cos scowled at a woman who ducked her head, flushing heavily. “No one is being much help. They’re all stonewalling like mad. Someone told them ... something to put them against us. Don’t like it.”

Tony explained the situation quickly, ending, “So ... SP is looking for Nix. We’re looking for Nix and Reynolds. We’re looking for the connection between the smuggling, the murder and ... everything else. Sucks to be us.”

“Not really. But I’d really like a gyros.”

No one even blinked at that. They’d all been dreaming of that special meal they wanted when they got back. They’d put it all on hold for now.

It wasn’t long before the Captain was collecting the written interviews; he handed the pile to Tony, then announced, “Your leaves are cancelled until Ltcmdr DiNozzo says otherwise. Hold yourselves available for more questions.” He saluted. All the occupants of the room stood and saluted. “Dismissed.” The group split into crew and SEAL. The crew members left, the SEALs stayed. “Gentlemen.” 

Tony settled at the conference table and waved a hand. “Coffee?”

A Culinary Specialist entered with a tray; he went to a sideboard and started making coffee. “It’ll be ready in a moment. Cream? Sugar?”

Tony shook his head. “Virgin.”

Remy, Dean and Cos winced as one. Taking his coffee black indicated that Tony didn’t feel like he was on home ground. This was, as Abby would say, “So not good.”

The Specialist handed mugs around, then poured coffee. Since they all took it black, the Specialist put the pot back on the warmer, locked it in, then left, after telling them that he was available if needed.

Captain Hennessy started the review by saying, “I’m sorry that Nix caused you trouble. He’s ... problematical. Good sailor, but does tend to stir shit for his own amusement ... and he’s not what I’d call career material. I really think he only enlisted to stay out of some sort of legal trouble. You know we don’t take service-in-lieu-of-sentence enlistments anymore, but some judges will let minor stuff slide if they find out that the perp has enlisted. So ... wonder if that points to anything?”

Tony wondered too. “I would like to know what the pending charges were.” Remy made a note. “Tim can find out.”

They went over all the interviews together; the Captain had a vested interest in knowing what his crew was up to. Finally, Tony slapped most of them together and stood up. “Well, that’s that. The interviews we’ve left for you, you can deal with. The rest, we might call in for more questioning.” He smirked at Captain Hennessy. “Serves ‘em right to lose their liberty. Stonewalling us because some CWO spread scuttlebutt.” He made a face, saluted and turned on his heel. Dean, Cos, and Remy followed suit, and they were gone.

On the way back to the Yard they discussed what they wanted to eat. Tony was, as usual, all for Italian. Dean wanted Chinese, while Cos wanted Greek. Remy longed for New Orleans style Gumbo, Dirty Rice and Beans, and cornbread. 

.

Gibbs greeted all the SEALs with a grimace. “Come take a look at this. We’re missing something.”

Tony, Remy, Cos, and Dean gathered in front of the big screen and listened as Tim gave his presentation again.

Tony frowned then asked, “Any crewman, or woman, on any of those ships at the times in question? Someone high enough up the ladder to be loadmaster?”

Tim typed for a moment then said, “Okay. We’ve got the connection. There’s a group of POs that rotated between the three ships on a regular basis. Not that uncommon. They are ... PO Jackson, PO Reynolds, CWO Nix and WO Samson ... And ... we have a problem. Of the eight men, four are missing within the last 48. Two from duty stations, one from a resort, and one from home. Someone’s doing some housecleaning.”

Gibbs asked, “You think it’s Reynolds?”

Remy frowned, “Might be, but he seems to be more the impulsive type. I think a higher-up caught wind of that mess and decided that the whole lot of them needed to go.”

Gibbs eyed the mess, then ordered, “Send everything we’ve got to the FBI and demand all intel they’ve got. We’ve got a window of opportunity that’s going to close on us as soon as the top dog finds Reynolds. As to the rest of it ...” He scowled. “I’ve been informed that it’s out of our wheelhouse.”

Tony nodded and sat down at his desk to send all their intel to the FBI agent in charge of their end of the investigation. Sharing like this grated on him, but he knew that the case was too big to play keep-away with. He was well aware that the FBI didn’t play well with others, but they had more resources in the civilian world. NCIS had more resources in the military. 

Gibbs glanced around. It was late; they’d done all they could. Their analysis of the intel was done, turned over to the FBI, and vetted. Now all they could do was wait while various departments did their thing. They could stay and go over old ground, but Gibbs had finally learned that tired people made mistakes, and forcing Tim and Tony to do all the research and data collation, and then go out and run down a warm body just wasted resources better utilized elsewhere. 

He grumbled when Remy, Dean, and Cos trotted in, with Remy announcing happily, “Got written reports from all Jackson’s and Reynolds’ shift-mates. Happy reading.” He passed a pile to everyone, keeping one for himself. The SEALs had already read them, but a second reading wouldn’t hurt.

Tim gave a whimper, which he would deny, but started reading. Ned shrugged, opened a new spreadsheet just in case, and began to read. Gibbs got out a new pen, a highlighter, and a red pencil and followed his companions into the depths of bad grammar, hideous spelling, and textspeak. He actually had what Tim called a cheat sheet for it.

It took them an hour to read through all the reports. They supported the evidence they’d already gathered; in fact, one of them provided the clue they needed as to how it was being done. The loadmaster was distracted by one of the men, while another just brought a box aboard. It was stashed in the hold in an out-of-the-way spot. They snuck it out the same way.

Tim sighed. “So we know how and who. Where did the stuff come from?”

Gibbs stretched. “That’s actually not our concern. We get the murder, feebs get the smuggling. Unless the arms came from the Navy or Marines.” He frowned over that for a moment. “I doubt that. The pieces we recovered were all civilian. The drugs are Colombian, so they get the investigation on that part. Pisses me off, but I’ve learned to cut my losses. They’ll do what they do. Come on, let’s go. I’m hungry.” He gathered his things. “We’ll go get food, then come back. By then we should have some results on whatever Tim’s runnin’. Right?”

Tim glanced at his timers, then sighed. “Probably not. Some of my searches are actually being run by the FBI. Their computers have more power, and they have connections that NCIS doesn’t have. We’ll have to grit our teeth and be patient. I’ve got a BOLO out on Reynolds. We didn’t have eyes on him when he took off, and there aren’t any CCTV cameras in that vicinity, so we’re fucked until someone gets eyes on him.”

“Damn! Well, nothing to be done about it now. Let’s go.” Gibbs tucked his sidearm into his holster, put on the jacket he wore to hide it, and headed for the elevator. The rest of the Pod followed like ducklings after their dam.

They were all relieved to find that someone had had the good sense to bring Tony’s Hummer and park it in his space. No one looked forward to musical cars; it was a pain. Dean, Cos, Tony, Remy, and Gibbs had very broad shoulders for their size; Tim and Jimmy weren’t that narrow-shouldered either, and Ducky hated to be crowded, so shoulder room was a real concern… except in the Hummer.

Jimmy showed up with Ducky in tow. “We need to get food soon.”

Ducky nodded. “I’m starved. Jimmy has done three autopsies to my two. And my head is pounding.”

Tony counted heads. “Okay, everyone is here. Jimmy, get out the can please.” The can was a one-pound coffee can with poker chips in it. Each chip matched with a seat in the Hummer; this kept arguments over who sat where to a minimum. But Ducky always got shotgun.

No one complained about the draw this time; they were all hungry, and not in the mood. Everyone was a bit grumpy, the SEALs because they’d gone directly from a fucked-up combat situation to another SNAFU, and the NCIS group because they were frustrated at the lack of progress. They all needed food and sleep.

Dean grumbled, “I swear this case is going nowhere fast. We’ve lost our murderer ...”

Cos bitched, “That’s right. How the hell did we get shanghaied into this Tango Foxtrot?”

Gibbs knew all the complaining was just frustration, so he let them all bitch and whine for a while. Finally, he called an end to it. “Alright! Enough! We’ll come back to it tomorrow. Hopefully Tim’s work will get us a lead to Reynolds, and we can snatch that jackwad up. He’ll be able to tell us who his boss is. That’s the guy who ordered the cleanup. We need him too. So forget about it all for now. Where the hell do we eat?”

Tony announced, “Italian. Carmine’s is really good and not that far. Or there’s Osteria Morini on Water street. It’s about six blocks the other way. And I’m not movin’ a foot until we decide.”

Dean snorted, “No way. The Source ... Chinese by Wolfgang Puck. How could you go wrong?”

Cos nearly talked over him. “Nostose. It’s really good.”

Gibbs vetoed that, saying, “No, that’s clear over in Vienna. Too far.”

Remy offered, “There’s The Warehouse. Cajun and Creole food and it’s only about half a mile from GHQ.”

Tim sighed, “I don’t care. Food, good, not too expensive.”

 

Chapter three

They took a vote. It turned out that Gibbs, Jimmy, and Ducky wanted Italian; so, with Tony that was four votes for Italian and one for each of the other places, with Tim abstaining. Tony easily cut off any arguments by saying, “Put all the other names in a hat, draw them out and we’ll go to each in turn starting when we finish this damn case. For now it’s Osteria Morini. It’s close and good.”

The drive didn’t take that long, and parking was in a garage half a block away, or they could fight for a place on the street, but the Hummer was so long it took a place and a half. Tony laughed at the attendant’s face. “I’ll park it myself if you like.”

“Yeah, you do that, man. There is no way I’m gonna try to park that boat. Rules are ... I’m supposed to. But, if I have an accident, we’re not covered for something that expensive. So have at it.” The attendant waved a hand.

Tony parked in the nearest place that would accommodate the Hummer’s length and straddled a line to be sure they could open the doors. They exited the Hummer and headed for the exit. Tony stopped on the way to give the attendant his keys. The man grinned at him, put the keys in the lock box, and announced, “Just ask for them when you get back. I’m off shift in an hour, so I’ll leave a note for Guy. He won’t want to try to drive that monster either.”

“Thanks.” Tony grinned at Mark and handed him a twenty. “For your trouble.”

Mark tucked the bill into his pocket, thanked Tony, and leaned over, obviously to write his note.

They crossed the street, then walked down towards the restaurant. It was one of those places that couldn’t decide whether it was a restaurant or a sidewalk cafe. The front and both sides were fenced off from the sidewalk and had dozens of piecrust tables scattered around, each with two chairs. There was a clear walkway into the building. 

The building itself was all light wood, steel, and glass. The windows took up nearly half the building, floor to ceiling. The only part that had any solid backing was the back end, the kitchen, facilities, and storage areas. 

They made their way to the podium and were told that it would be about ten minutes’ wait. Tony watched as the hostess disappeared into the back area, wondering what the hell now. Gibbs was wearing his usual polo, dockers, and boots; Jimmy and Tim were wearing business casual as well. Ducky was his tweedy self, and the SEALs were all wearing blacks. They were dressed appropriately, except for ties. 

The hostess came back out and said, “We were wondering what seating would make you most comfortable. We have a couple of tables that might do, or we can push two tables together. What would you like?”

Gibbs glanced around the room. He saw the perfect table. It was off in a corner, large enough, and backed by solid walls. “That one.”

“Very well. It’s not that popular with most of our patrons. They come to see and be seen.” She led them to the table, handed out menus and asked, “What will you have to drink?”

Gibbs, Tim, and Jimmy went with coffee, Tony water with lime. The rest had ice tea. The waitress made a bit of a face over that. 

After studying the menu Jimmy said, “Northern Italian is a bit different. I wonder how the steak thing is.”

Tony looked at the Tagliata. “Looks really good. Dry-aged New York strip, mushrooms, onions, and black truffles; what’s not to like? If you want pasta, you get that as a side. But I’d suggest the Patate Fritti. Baby potatoes, deep fried and dressed with olive oil, fresh black pepper, and parmesan. I think I’ll have the same.”

Ducky smiled. He was very fond of seafood pasta, and the Tortelacchi sounded delicious. Ravioli filled with crab in a saffron sauce with fava beans sounded very nice. 

Dean, Cos, and Tim went with Tony; Remy decided on Branzino. He just hoped that the brazed sea bass wasn’t dry, no way bagna cauda would make up for that, but the charred broccoli and chick peas sounded delicious. Gibbs went with Vitello, a veal chop on a bed of trivso dressed with panchetta cream.

Tony blinked at one item, Antipasti; Insalata Verde; red leaf lettuce, asparagus, pea shoots, green almonds, lemon $12. He shook his head. “I’m not paying twelve dollars for green salad with pea shoots. Just no.”

Gibbs shook his head. “Me neither.” The rest of the group kicked over the traces at that price too.

They also scoffed at eight dollars for a handful of fried new potatoes. 

The waitress came back around to take their orders. She smiled. “Is the table okay?”

Gibbs glanced around the table. “Yeah, looks like it.” He gave his order, then handed her the menu.

“No antipasti?”

“No, thank you.”

It went around the table the same way; everyone ordered a main and side, but refused antipasti and desert. 

The waitress turned in her ticket, listened while it was read off to the kitchen, then trotted off to tend her station.

Gibbs looked around, frowned, then said, “I don’t think this place was such a good idea. Looks like the servings are a bit on the stingy side.”

Tony sighed. This was always a problem; they all ate like two race horses, except for Ducky; he ate like one. “Yeah, looks like. If we don’t get full ...” he brightened. “We could go for Greek?”

Tim nodded. “Sounds like a plan to me. I just got a good look at the steak. New York strip it is, but it’s ... like ... six ounces. With about three mushrooms and a pearl onion. Not gonna fill us up.”

Ducky thought for a moment then said, “I believe Tony has the best idea, just eat what comes, then leave for a nice Greek meal. And none of this fancy-schmancy stuff. Find a good four-star family place.”

The food arrived, and their fears were realized: the portions were small. The waitress knew that something was wrong by the expressions on their faces. “Is the food unacceptable? Can we make it right?”

Ducky shook his head. “Nothing is actually wrong with the food, my dear. It’s just that the portions are a bit on the scanty side for our appetites.”

“I see. I’m very sorry, but those are the standard portions. I could see if chef will ... I’m actually not sure. Let me get someone.” She hurried away, glad that the group hadn’t gotten nasty.

The chef came to the table himself. “I understand that the food is not to your taste?”

Ducky shook his head. “It tastes very nice. It’s just that most of us eat a great deal and the portions are a bit scant. We don’t need anything to be done; the young lady has jumped the gun just a bit.”

“I see.” The Chef looked the group over but encountered nothing but polite looks back. “If there’s anything you don’t like, please say so. I’ll go back to the kitchen now.” He left to return to his cooking. 

Ducky commented, “Well, the portions are a bit small, but it is delicious.”

Gibbs nodded. “It’s good, but we’ll be finding Greek later.”

Cos gave a little crow, then snarked, “See? We should’a done Greek to begin with. Tim could find us a good place after we’re done here.”

They finished their food quickly. It was very good, but Tim had guessed right, the New York strip was only six ounces and the side of potatoes was about eight tiny potatoes. 

Ducky had enough, as the pasta was filling. He was satisfied, but knew the others were still hungry enough to chew the furniture, as Tony said.

Gibbs wiped his mouth with his napkin, put it to the side, then said, “Everyone done?” Everyone was. “Who’s still hungry?” Every hand except Ducky’s went up.

Ducky said, “Not especially hungry, but I could do with a sweet. Something a bit heavier than basil sorbet.”

Tony grimaced then said, “Yuck, who the hell thought sorbet made from an herb was a good idea?”

Dean and Cos agreed, but Remy shrugged, saying, “Different people, different tastes. But ... not fo’ me I don’ think.”

Gibbs signaled for the bill, which the waitress brought quickly. He put his credit card on the little tray, got out his money clip, and stripped off a ten. Tony handed him another. The waitress smiled, then blinked as everyone else at the table handed her a ten. “Oh, sir, this is way too much, especially as you weren’t satisfied.”

Tony stood, towering over the diminutive woman, patted her on the shoulder and said, “It’s not. It’s not your fault that the servings are minuscule. It tasted fine, your service was great; not your problem that we all eat like a starving race horse. Pocket that and get us checked out. Okay?”

She nodded, tucked the bills in her pocket, and hurried off to run the card. 

She returned with the register receipt and the card. “Please sign here,” she dimpled at Gibbs. “And thank you for being so understanding.” She watched as the Pod exited the restaurant; sadly, she didn’t think they’d return.

The second they hit the street Tony was demanding, “Tim ... find someplace, I’m still starving. That so-called steak was more an appetizer than anything else.” Various sounds of agreement came from the rest of the group, including Ducky. He wanted a real dessert.

They all headed back to the Hummer at a dead trot, even Ducky. Tim worked his smart phone as he went. He didn’t have to worry about bumping into anyone or anything. The other men kept him from bumping into a solid object, and they avoided bumping into him. 

They reached the parking garage and told Mark that they wanted their keys. He blinked at the Pod for a moment then said, “Wow! That was fast. I figured that you’d be gone at least three hours.” He looked at his watch. “That was less than an hour and a half.”

Tony nodded but said, “Thought you were off in an hour.”

“Dude who was supposed to relieve me called in. Bet the asshole got drunk and can’t get in. Not actually a problem. I need the hours. So. Keys.”

Tony took the keys and went to retrieve the Hummer. Remy was happy to inform Mark that, “Service was great, food was good. But man, small; skimpy small portions. We’re all still hungry. We’re goin’ for Greek. Tim?”

Tim fiddled a bit more, then said, “Got three places within half a mile. All Greek, all four- or four-and-a-half-star family places. I checked the prices, and they’re all really reasonable.”

Mark glanced over Tim’s shoulder. “I like that place,” he pointed. “It’s nice, clean; food’s good. They’re real Greek people, so they do it right. And a gyros platter is all I can eat.”

Tim nodded. “Sounds good. We’re not much for that fancy ambience shit. Good food, clean premises, polite servers.”

“You’ll get it with them. It’s sort of ... late ’60’s industrial ... if you know what I mean.”

Tim clicked on the web site link to check the menu. He began to read. “Wow! They’ve got a lot of stuff that you don’t usually find around here. Ducky? Can you figure out what some of this stuff is ... most of the menu is in Greek only.”

Ducky took the phone and examined the menu. “All right. Let me see. Well ... there’s the usual: gyros, moussaka, dolmades, and horiatiki, and they’ve got gigandes ... big beans cooked in tomato sauce with olive oil and garlic ... you dress it with fresh lemon juice at the table. And ... um ...keftedes, big meat balls served in gravy, no spaghetti. Piadikia, grilled lamb chops. The whole menu sounds delightful. They have galactoboureko, filo pastry with custard filling, very rich. One of my favorites. And loukoumades, Fried balls of dough dipped in cinnamon honey.”

Gibbs sighed. “Man, that’s one of my favorites and harder than hell to find.”

They found the place easily enough, pulled into the lot, and parked. Tony parked across three places right next to the sidewalk. It made the walk a bit of a stretch, but that way they didn’t take up three close-in places.

The hostess met them at the door, explaining, “Welcome. Come in. Mark called me. Seems you didn’t get enough to eat at that fancy place you went? No names mentioned. This way.” She led the way with a smile. “How’s this?”

Everyone looked around; the table was huge, well able to seat all of them without crowding. It was right in front of the kitchen doors, but there was plenty of room to move around it without bumping anyone. It was a bit more exposed than they really liked, but there wasn’t another table that would seat them all. Beside that, all the tables were in the middle of the room, with booths along two walls. The front had the register, and the back was dedicated to service.

They settled at the table, jostling each other and snarking until Ducky called them to order. “Boys, please. You’ll scare the help. Settle down.”

The waitress, whose name tag read Io, laughed. “Don’t bother. They’ll just find some other way to get into trouble ... just like my brothers. So ... what would you like?”

Gibbs sighed. “I’m starved.” He took a quick eye vote, got a bunch of shrugs, then said, “Hot and a lot. Not too heavy on the veg, no soup. Salad on the side.”

Io grinned at them all. “Well that makes it easy. Family style?”

“Fine.” Gibbs collected the pile of menus and handed them to her.

“Good deal. I’ll be bringing it out in about ten minutes. Coffee?”

Everyone wanted coffee, even Ducky. He caught Io’s eye and said, “I have had my fill. I just want a sweet.”

Io craned her neck to look into the kitchen; whatever she saw caused her to say, “Okay. Sweets ... Baklava, galactoboureko, or loukoumades. We also have those little filo cups with ... stuff. Not really Greek, but everyone asks for them.”

Ducky frowned for a moment, then suggested, “Bring whatever is convenient.”

Io nodded. “Okay, we’re preparing for the late rush. Theater patrons, party preppers… that sort of thing. We set up a buffet of casseroles, finger foods, and pre-made gyros. I’ll see what I can get you.” She hurried off to see what was available.

She returned with gyros, moussaka, dolmades, horiatiki on individual salad plates, gigandes, and keftedes; with an offer of piadikia as soon as they were grilled. The platters were a bit smaller than expected, but she said, “That’s all I could get you for first servings, but as you empty a platter, either put it to the side or signal me for a refill. Enjoy.” She left to get Ducky’s sweets.

Gibbs picked up the platter in front of his place, took a serving of dolmades, and passed it right. He nearly snatched it back as Dean tipped it a bit and slid his portion onto his plate. “Hey, be careful. And don’t hog.” 

Dean snorted, but handed the platter on.

Remy had the gyros and all the condiments right in front of him, so he began to make up a sandwich. Cos, eager to get one too, reached over Remy’s place to help himself. This annoyed Remy, so he smacked Cos’s hand. Cos retaliated by snatching Remy’s sandwich. “Hey! Mine! Make your own.” 

Remy started to try to get his food back, but Gibbs barked, “Freeze. Damn it, Cos, hands off. Remy, just let it go. Make another.”

Dean snickered, “Man, you been owned.”

Cos mumbled, “Jerk,” around a mouth full of gyros. 

Tim sighed, “Children. Seriously,” then passed the moussaka. He tasted it and announced, “Now that’s the stuff. So good.”

All the platters made a round. The beans weren’t that big a hit; they were good but not what they were in the mood for. They asked for more gyros, moussaka, dolmades, and piadikia. Tony asked for the recipe for the keftedes, which Io smiled at. 

Jimmy was quietly eating himself into a food coma, having taken a serving of moussaka, gigantes, dolmades, and piadikia. He’d also managed to snag a gyros, courtesy of Tim. 

Ducky was happily nibbling on baklava and loukoumades, with a nice cup of coffee on the side. He’d eyed the galactoboureko but decided that the custard was a bit on the runny side for him. He was also keeping an eye on the group. 

The Pod had been a bit subdued lately, mostly because they were all run off their feet between missions, cases, training, and reports. But they were due a vacation soon; he cringed a bit at the thought, but brightened when he realized that they actually wouldn’t blow anything up ... he hoped.

Gibbs noticed the slight smile. “Ducky?”

“Just reflecting. Vacations soon?”

“Yeah. Everyone’s beat.” Gibbs’ eyes narrowed. “Jimmy, no.” He waited until Jimmy put the wet napkin he’d been about to stuff down Dean’s neck back on the table. “Thank you.”

Dean eyed Jimmy. “Oh, dude, you were not. Seriously?”

Jimmy managed to look innocent. “Who, me?”

“Yeah, you. Bitch.”

“Jerk.”

That being sorted, they went back to their food.

Cos, due to Dean being distracted, stuffed the wet napkin down Dean’s back then gave Jimmy a thumbs-up. Dean yelped when the cold wet paper hit the back of his neck. He slapped at Cos, hitting him on the shoulder. A correction came from an unexpected place.

Io plopped a platter of gyros meat onto the middle of the table then ordered, “No horsing around at the table. Behave, you guys, or I’ll call Yaiyaí and let her deal.”

Gibbs snorted then started laughing, saying between snickers, “You’ve been owned. Completely. By a girl. Seriously.”

Io whapped him on the shoulder with a menu. “Not a girl. I’ll have you know I’m twenty.”

Gibbs shook his head. “Young enough to be my daughter,” he grinned at her.

Ducky nodded wisely. “You are, my dear, but we take your point.” He turned his attention to the table. “Do behave. I’d hate to have Yaiyaí come out of the kitchen to school you.”

They all laughed at that and calmed down. Gibbs was happy to see them horsing around; everyone was wound tighter than a dollar watch over Ducky.

Yaiyaí Helena came in just as they were getting ready to leave. She zeroed in on Ducky and Gibbs. “You make sure those boys get some ... down time, I believe you call it.” She eyed Ducky’s face. “And what the blazes happened to you?”

Ducky explained quickly, and Yaiyaí Helena shook her head. “No wonder those boys are all a-dither. And you ...” She pointed at Gibbs. “You get some relaxation too. I don’t like the look of your eyes.” She humphed and walked back into the kitchen.

Ducky chuckled and slapped Gibbs on the back. “Well, I do believe we’ve been told.”

“That we have. But she’s right. As soon as we catch that jackwad, I’m takin’ some time off.”

They paid with Gibbs’ credit card and left, piling into the Hummer with a bit of jostling and grumbling. Jimmy groaned, “Man, I ate way too much. But it was really good. Y’all lay off, I’m napping until we get home.”

Everyone laughed at that, but they also quieted down so Jimmy could nap. In fact, they all fell into a sort of zombie-like state, leaving Tony to drive.

.

Leon Vance was not a happy director. His lead ME had been attacked at a crime scene, the perpetrator had escaped, and his MCRT was pissed. The locals weren’t cooperative, a circumstance he blamed directly on Team Lead LJ Gibbs. And any lead they got on where the drugs and guns came from led directly nowhere. 

So here he was at nearly 2100, trying to get the FBI to cooperate with them and hand over evidence that they needed to trace PO Reynolds. He thought he’d succeeded, as they were going to email him some information they’d gotten from a CI in the area. He was sure that Reynolds was holed up nearby, head down. He’d send the Pod out tomorrow to do a conga line search of the woods and fields surrounding the site. He was sure the locals weren’t searching as hard as they could. Local boy and all.

He wasn’t sure sending in Gibbs and Co. was a good idea, but they were his best team and experienced in boots-on-the-ground searches. But he didn’t know what else to do. So door-to-door it was.

Leon sighed, shut down his computer, and prepared to go home for the night. 

.

The next morning was interesting, as Gibbs got a text from Vance first thing. This was annoying to him in two ways: one, it came before coffee, and two, it was text. He didn’t mind texting as much as he used to, but it still got his goat that he couldn’t ask questions. So he didn’t know what kind of equipment they’d need for what Vance called an off-site op. 

Gibbs passed the word on to Dean, Cos, and Remy. They groaned and bitched, but agreed to skip PT in favor of breakfast so they could get in early. “I’ll organize this cluster fuck with AJ; you hold yourselves ready for damn near anything.” Gibbs called Tony, “AJ, we’re aboard the Yard by 0730, come over here for breakfast,” He hung up without saying goodbye, then started peeling potatoes. 

Tony eyed his phone for a second, then yelled, “Jet called. We’re aboard the Yard by 0730. No idea why. We’re goin’ to GHQ for breakfast. Move it!”

There was bitching and moaning at Mallard Manor as well. Ducky even grumbled, but they left in time to have breakfast at GHQ without rushing too much.

Gibbs met them at the door. “Just gettin’ it on the table. Come on.”

This breakfast turned out to be one of those simple, filling things that all the men liked. Gibbs settled at the head of the table, Ducky at the foot. Gibbs started handing platters around. “Sausages; we only had bulk, so it’s patties ... shut up, Remy.” Remy, who preferred link and said so at every opportunity, just made a face. “The eggs are scrambled with herbs. Ducky likes them.” No one had much to say about that, as herbs were a sure sign that they were stateside. “Cottage fries with onions.” The next platter made its rounds. “Toast.” The next platter made the trip. “Nothing else. Sorry there’s no porridge, Ducky; we didn’t have any on hand.”

Ducky waved this away, toast in hand. “Never mind. What do you think Vance wants?”

“No idea. Bet it turns out to be nothing. Or ... something. Who the hell knows?” Gibbs was still irritated that Vance hadn’t told him anything more than be there. He eyed Ducky for a moment then asked, “How’s your head?”

“Fine. Jimmy gave me a quick checkup this morning before we came over. The cut is healing well, bruising ... as you can see ... is fading fast. And my headache is gone.”

Jimmy just nodded along as Ducky outlined the extent of his healing. “He’s fine. Seriously, stop stressing.”

Tony poked at his sausage. “Not. I mean, I’m pissed. Really, you just don’t pick on family.”

Ducky flushed a bit with pleasure. “Well, thank you, AJ. But I am fine.”

He was about to say something else when Vance called Gibbs. “Gibbs.” Gibbs put the phone on speaker so everyone could hear. “You’re on speaker.”

“Good. Sheriff Douglas called me early this morning. He’s found our PO. Seems he holed up in a cave about six miles from the house. He’s been stealing food and other supplies from surrounding houses. He also hit up a mini-mart. The sheriff is reluctant to risk his deputies on an operation like this. Frankly, I don’t blame him; his men aren’t trained for an armed extraction. They do expect to be on-site back up. How long will it take you to get ready for this?”

Gibbs glanced around the table. Tony did the same, then held up two fingers. “Two days ... minimum.”

Vance replied, “You’ve got three hours.”

Tony snarled, “Well, three hours then.”

“I’ll tell the sheriff. I’ve also arranged for you to use PO Johnson’s house as a staging area.”

Tony thought for a second then asked, “Threat assessment?”

“Low-level, but accelerating. He beat the mini-mart worker over the head with a whiskey bottle. You’re to bring him in alive, so don’t shoot to kill.”

Tony frowned over that. “You sure? I’d rather terminate with extreme prejudice.”

“Not on the table, except in dire circumstances. I’ll have equipment ready ... unless you’ve already got it.” Vance wasn’t sure exactly what the team brought home with them; he was fairly sure he really didn’t want to know.

Tony replied, “All our gear is being evaluated for performance and readying for repairs. We’ll need full gear from NCIS. I’ll text you a list.”

“Great.” Vance’s sour tone didn’t go over that well.

“Something?” Gibbs’ tone suggested that there better not be.

“No. Just do try to bring it back in reasonable condition. Dr. Mallard, I’ve been informed that you want to go along?”

Ducky snorted into his tea. “By whom, may I ask?”

“Sign-up sheet on my desk.”

“Well, I will be going then. I had not planned on it but the boys will need a medic on hand ... just in case. So ... gear for me as well.”

Tony had one more question. “What about Dorney? Where’s he in this pile?”

“I’ve already reassigned him. He doesn’t have enough experience in this style of operation to be of any use.”

Tony sighed. “Okay, good. I’ll get with him for a thank-you later.”

Vance grumbled indistinctly, then hung up.

Gibbs smirked, closed his phone, and returned to his breakfast. 

Tony sighed, “Well, stuff it down and let’s put wheels under this bitch.”

They all gobbled their breakfast fast enough that it was a wonder no one choked. 

Gibbs looked like he might argue with Ducky as they scrambled for seats in the Hummer. Ducky just took shotgun, as usual, and glowered him into silence. The rest of the Pod took seats as first come, first served. Tony took the wheel, barked, “You jackwads settle down, buckle up, and shut up.”

His driving proved that his complaints about Gibbs’ and Ziva’s driving skills had a basis in his own driving. He, as Gibbs complained, drove like a Turkish taxi driver on crack. 

Tony merrily told him, “Bitch, bitch, bitch. You don’t see me whining over your driving.”

“Much.” Gibbs grabbed the OS bar as Tony swerved around a box truck, then cut off a pickup. 

No one else said much; they just endured silently, even Ducky. 

.

Leon Vance was convinced that the whole Pod was going to go off the rails. After all, he was furious at the senseless attack on his head ME. This hadn’t gone down well with the whole of NCIS. He’d had offers from every satellite office in the country. Dwane Pride had offered to come up, and he hated leaving New Orleans.

All he could do was issue reminders that they needed to bring the man in alive and relatively undamaged, and hope. He rechecked his list of equipment that Tony had requested and sighed; they were going in hot, fully armored and armed. In other words, they were going in with as much equipment on hand as they’d use for capturing an ISIS leader. He rubbed his face, thinking that there was no way this would end well.

A tap on his door pulled him from his musings, “Come.”

Cynthia stuck her head in the door. “They’re here. I called them up before they got to the armory.” She pushed the door open and let Gibbs in, followed by the rest of the combined team.

They all lined up in front of Vance’s desk and just looked at him. He sighed then said, “Very well, gentlemen, I’m sure you know why you’re here ... but I’ll say it anyway. Bring that fucker back alive and in relatively good shape. I don’t want him skating because some bleeding-heart, squirrel-kissing, tree-hugging libtard cried about unnecessary force.” He waited for them to look suitably insulted. “I know you’re better than that. Now I can say I warned you if someone is stupid enough to ask.”

Tony just nodded. “We’re more used to missions where we’re told otherwise. So ... warning noted. Now ... can we get to work?”

“Go.”

They went. Straight to the armory to get their gear issued. 

They left Vance’s office and headed down to the armory, clattering down the stairs with Ducky right behind them.

This went much better than expected. NCIS did have SWAT-style squads which were used for hostage-rescue situations, B&E arrests, and other such missions. Their gear was all top of the line, so the Pod was getting the best gear available.

When the armorer saw them, he just shrugged and got out of their way, saying, “Have at it. Check with me when you pick your gear, I’ll need to write up the issue for inventory. Do try to bring the more expensive shit back in one piece. That includes you guys.”

Tony and Remy began rummaging the shelves, looking for what they needed. “Night vision?”

Tony snorted. “He’s in a cave; ya think?”

“Yeah, but maybe only two or three of us. The rest keep daytime vision.”

“Okay. Um ... any use for a door knocker?”

Remy thought for a moment, then said, “A cave doesn’t have a door, dumbass.”

Dean put the knocker down with a quick pat. “Sorry, dude, you don’t get to come.” Everyone gave him a look that silently said, “Seriously?” then went back to collecting gear.

Ducky announced, “It’s going to be hot, so be sure to get a hydration module.”

Jimmy nodded, but said, “I’d prefer they used their own. No offense ...” he glanced at the armorer, who shrugged. “But who knows when they were cleaned last ... or what with.”

“I clean them with disinfectant and bleach after every issue.” 

Cos groaned. “I can’t have bleach residue, gives me the heaves. No matter how much you rinse there’s always a bit left.”

The armorer smiled at that. “Sorry. NCIS regs state what I clean with.”

There was some laugher, but Ducky reassured him, “I do know that. And it’s not on you. I’d recommend the same.”

It didn’t take them long to get vests, helmets, weapons, and comm gear organized and put into carry-alls and out to the Hummer. Dean and Tony both got some gear out of their rucks and put it into their carry-alls. Everyone had a ruck in the Hummer, so they got their hydration modules and rearranged things so they could gear up quickly. 

Gibbs nodded. “AJ, drive for an hour. I’ll take ...” He was interrupted by Jimmy rattling the can. “Okay. Draw for seats. Fine.”

Jimmy shrugged. “Sorry to interrupt you, but I’m not listening to someone ... anyone ... bitching and whining like a little girl because they don’t like their seat. Draw.”

Gibbs drew, then Jimmy held the can while everyone drew a chip. They all knew better than to whine about their seats; if they did, Tony would take them onto the mats and pound them ... something to be avoided at all costs.

Once the chips were drawn, everyone took their assigned places, and they drove off.

.

It took two hours to get back to the site; the stop at the sheriff’s station was quick, but out of the way. 

Tony eyed the house with a sour expression. “It’s still a dump. I’ll need two showers to get clean.”

Sheriff Douglas met them in front of the barn. “Mornin’. We’re not using the house ... no matter what Angela said. It’s filthy still, and like to stay that way. We’re staging from the barn.” He turned to lead the way. “I was thinkin’ we could split into groups with one of my deputies as guide, cover more ground.”

Gibbs sighed. “You got equipment?”

“Not enough. We’ve only got two full outfits. I don’t like it any better than you do. I’m not convinced that you’ll do any better than we could, but I’m not in charge of this goat rope. The council decided that you’re better equipped to deal with this.”

Gibbs nodded. He felt a bit guilty about starting a jurisdictional war in the first place. So he agreed, saying, “And whose fault is that? Let me guess ... not yours. AJ?”

Tony, pleased that Gibbs was trying to make amends, asked, “Why don’t we send out a couple of search parties made up of your people ... see where our Tango is? When we find him, we’ll go in and do the dirty. What we’re used to anyway.”

Sheriff Douglas thought about that for a moment, then shrugged. “We know where he is. There’s only one place he could hole up that the highway patrol chopper couldn’t find him with their FLEER. That’s Martin’s Cave. One of my deputies dressed out in hunting stuff and a .22, went in and found fresh tracks. He’s there for sure. So ... now what?”

Tony sighed, “Well, thanks for the intel. I’d have loved to be able to check out the terrain a bit ... but shit in one hand, wish in the other and see which one fills up first.”

A deputy hurried up. “He’s on the move. Jake just called in.” He glanced at Tony and Gibbs. “Jake’s been keeping an eye on the cave from the next ridge over. Spotter’s scope.”

The sheriff grumbled, “Well, shit. Any idea where he’s headed?”

“Sam thinks he’s headed for the Anderson place. They just left for vacation. He might be planning to raid them for supplies.”

Another deputy put in his two cents’ worth. “If we hurry, we can set up a crossfire in the two places he could approach from.”

They all hurried to their vehicles and took off for the Anderson residence to see if they couldn’t trap their target.

When they got there, the Pod were all pleased to see that the small house was situated in a hollow between two ridges. This protected it from wind and weather. It also provided a dead-end. There was a path in from around the end of one ridge, and a gravel drive from the blacktop ran between the two ridges. The sheriff and the deputy thought PO Reynolds would come in by the footpath. It was a longer trip, but it was under cover the whole way, while the road was cleared back nearly four feet on each side. As the sheriff said, “That will make him stand out like a bug on a plate.”

It was decided to split the group into Sheriff’s Department and NCIS. This would prevent any misunderstandings caused by trying to combine the services. 

The only argument was over where each group should station themselves. Jimmy solved that easily. “Hang on a sec.” He trotted over to the Hummer, got his can out, took out all but two chips and said, “Draw. Whoever gets the higher chip gets first pick.” 

Gibbs drew for NCIS and got the high chip. “Okay, AJ?”

Tony thought for a moment. “I really think he’ll take the chance of coming in on the road. We’ll take that.”

Sheriff Douglas smirked. “Really? I don’t think he’ll take the chance.”

They all went to gear up and get into position. Tony grumbled to Gibbs, “I don’t like this. No recon. No ... anything. Last time we were on an op like this, it went sideways so fast ... Seriously not happy with this whole FUBAR mess. Fuck it.”

“Don’t like it either, but orders are orders. You know the old saying. We, the Unwilling, led by the Unknowing, are doing the Impossible for the Uncaring. We have done so Much for so Long with so Little we are now fully qualified to do Absolutely Anything with Nothing.”

Tony nodded. “So true.”

They finished gearing up quickly and went to check out the terrain. The sheriff went with them to express his one concern. “Um ... don’t want to step on any toes, but ... what about the old guy?”

Tony didn’t even look his way as he said, “Ducky’s here as medic. He’ll stay with the Hummer or in the house.”

“Oh, okay, good. That’s good. I’ll let him into the house. The Andersons won’t mind.” The sheriff trotted back toward the house.

Gibbs rubbed his stomach. “I’m not sure about this whole op. Something’s gonna bite us in the fuckin’ ass.”

Tony nodded. “It is. It truly is.”

Between Tony and Remy, they soon had a crossfire set up, with Jimmy actually up a tree to get a good line of sight as far down the gravel as possible. Tony checked and announced, “Jimmy can see more than a mile. Nice advance warning.”

.

Sheriff Douglas walked up to Ducky. “Hey. Dr. Mallard, I didn’t get the chance to apologize for the other day. I’m really sorry you got hurt. Believe me when I say I took a hunk out of that deputy. He’s on desk duty for the next thirty days while I retrain him myself.”

Ducky just waved that away, saying, “Water under the bridge, my dear fellow. How can I help you?”

“Well, I thought you might be more comfortable in the house. Might set up some of your equipment ... just in case.” The sheriff grinned. “And that’ll give me an excuse to set up Helen’s coffee maker.”

“Very well. Here.” Ducky handed Jimmy’s field pack to the sheriff and then picked up his own.

“Christ on a cracker! What the heck is in this?” The sheriff was sure that Ducky didn’t carry this ruck himself.

“Oh, that is young Jimmy’s. It’s a complete SEAL Medic pack. It’s as close to a field hospital as you can get into one unit. As well as his personal gear. This ...” he held up the bag he was carrying. “Is my personal gear. Not as complete as Jimmy’s, but it’s what I can carry myself. I’ll just pop it under the table until we know if it’s needed or not.”

Ducky put his bag under the table then made way for the sheriff to add Jimmy’s. 

“There. Now all I have to do is find the coffee pot.” The sheriff started opening cabinet doors.

Ducky asked, “Shouldn’t you ask permission? Where are the Andersons?”

Sheriff Douglas grumbled. “Well, damn. You’re right. I’ll see if I can get them. This is sort of a dead area when it comes to cell service. They still have a land line.” He walked to the phone on the wall. “And I need to get outside to set up the ambush. I’ll dial, then turn it over to you. Okay?”

Ducky sighed, but agreed. “Fine. I’ll deal.”

“Thanks.” The sheriff hurried off to position his deputies, convinced that he was going to see their target come out of the woods around the end of the ridge. 

After setting up their ambushes, both teams settled down to wait.

.

Ducky listened to the phone ring. When it picked up, it was a woman. Ducky explained what was going on and asked if he could setup her pot.

“OH, I’m so sorry. I loaned the pot to my sister. She’s hostessing her bridge club this month. But it wouldn’t do you any good anyway. I took all the coffee with us. I’m really sorry.”

“Well, that’s unfortunate. But no harm, no foul. Have a nice vacation. And I will leave your house in the condition in which I found it.” Ducky said his good-byes and hung up.

He settled at the table to wait, wondering if there was any tea in the house. Finally, he pulled his tablet from his bag to read an article he was interested in.

Three hours later he heard a scratching at the back door. He put his tablet on the table and pulled the small, old-fashioned Colt snub-nosed .38 from its holster and waited. 

It wasn’t long before PO Reynolds slipped into the kitchen from the mud room. Ducky calmly pointed his weapon and said, “Hands up. Do not make me shoot you.”

PO Reynolds blinked, then tried to rush Ducky. Ducky reacted by shooting him in the thigh. “Damn it. Now I have to mop the floor.”

Reynolds screamed when the bullet hit him and went down like a sack of shit. Ducky got out his phone and called Gibbs. “Jethro, do not panic. I just shot Reynolds in the thigh ... in the kitchen. I’m not approaching him until I have help.”

.

When they heard the shot from the house, the whole Pod headed there at a dead run. Gibbs’ phone started ringing, the ring tone the one Tim had assigned to Ducky, so he answered it. “What? Where? Okay. On the way.”

“What the hell?”

“Ducky caught our tango coming into the house. He shot him in the thigh. Wants us there ASAP.” 

They were actually entering the house as Gibbs finished.

Tony grabbed Reynolds, flipped him over on his stomach and cuffed him. “Okay, Ducky. Do your thing so this jackwad doesn’t bleed to death.”

Ducky was offended and said so. “AJ, I’m offended in the extreme. I do know how to shoot someone so they don’t. Or do. Depending. I was a field operative for nearly twenty-five years, you know.” While he was speaking Ducky ripped Reynolds’ pant leg to the groin, slapped a field dressing on it, then announced, “Very nice through-and-through. Didn’t touch bone, or any arteries or veins. He’ll do.”

Tony just smirked at the sheriff and his deputies, who’d all rushed to the house when they heard the shot. “Sorry, Ducky. You’re so laid back now that I do tend to forget.”

Gibbs just smirked at the sheriff and said, “Well, we’ve all been schooled.”

The sheriff replied, “We sure have.”

Everyone laughed a bit hysterically.

Then Ducky announced, “And I need a mop and bucket. Mrs. Anderson doesn’t need to come home to a bloody floor.”

Sheriff Douglas shook his head. “One of the deputies will deal. You get that jackwad out of my county.” He gave them a casual salute then went to tell the EMT’s to get Reynolds to the local hospital for treatment. 

It didn’t take them long to get their gear stowed away, call Vance for a quick sit-rep, and hit the road. Reynolds would be guarded at the hospital until he was deemed well enough to return to the Yard for questioning. 

 

 

~~~

a strict search is one in which you look for only one “target.” In this case a brick of drugs or a stash of guns.

I hate Earl Grey; it tastes like gin smells. Earl Greyer has twice the bergamot oil, so it’s even worse. It’s also strong enough to strip paint, no matter how you brew it.

One-hit homicide is exactly what it sounds like. Sometimes it’s called one-punch. One blow that knocks the vic down, they hit their head just right and die. Or the blow breaks their neck. 

Old saying about sleep: Never pass up a chance to eat, sleep, or shit, you never know when you’ll have another. (courtesy of my Dad who was an Army Engineer in WWII)

OS bar: Oh, shit! bar― the handhold by the passenger seat meant to help you get out of the car. (we all know it’s to hang onto when the driver is scaring the shit out of you.)

 

~~~~~


End file.
